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Full text of "Picture Stories Magazine (Sept 1914-Feb 1915)"

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Scanned  from  the  collection  of 
Bruce  Long 

Coordinated  by  the 

Media  History  Digital  Library 

Funded  by  an  anonymous  donation 
in  memory  of  Carolyn  Hauer 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

IVIedia  History  Digital  Library 





September  1914 — February  1915. 

Published   by 



Price :  3/6  nett.      Postage  extra. 


VOLUME   III.         SEPTEMBER  1914— FEBRUARY  1915. 
•M-    Denotes  that  the  portrait  is  to  be  found  in  the  Supplement — immediately  preceding  that  page. 


Acid  Test,  The 

Adventures  ok  Miss  Tumi'.oy,  The 

Ambition  and  its  Attainments,  His 

Andekson,  G.  M. 

As  Fate  Willed 

At  the  Foot  of  the   Staii^s     ... 

Baird,  Leah 
Basilisk,  The 
Barriscale,  Bessie  ... 
Bayne,  Beverley 
Beaumont,  Harry     ... 
Beeky',  Wallace 
Belasco,  Ruby 
Benham,  Harry- 
Bennett,  Charlie 
Bennett,  Constanck 
Bishop's  Silence,  The 
Blache,  Madam  Alice 
Blackvvell,  Carlyle 
Boardman,  True 
Boss,  Yale 
Boulden,  Ed. 
Brewster's  Millions 
Burns,  Vinnie 
Burton,  Charj^otte 
Bushman,  Francis  X. 
Bass,  Harry 

Call  of  the  Deep,  The 

Cali,  of  the  North,  The 

Chaplin,  Syd 

Childers,  Naomi  Weston 

Christmas  Story,  A 

Clark,  Andy 

Clark,  Marguerite 

Clayton,  Marguerite 

Cocoon  and  the  Butterfly,  The 

Coney  Island  Nightmare,  A    ... 

Con  NESS,  Robert 

Coombs,  Guy 

Cooper,  Bigelow 

Cooper,  George 

corbett,  j.  j. 

Costello,  Delores    ... 

CosTELLO,  Helen 

CosTEixo,  Maurice    ... 

CoURA(iE   of  a  CoWAliU,    Till;      ... 

Crisp,  Donald 
Crute,  Sally 
CuNARD,  Grace 

Daly,  Arnold 
Dane,  Viola 
Darkfeather,  Mona 
Daylight  ... 
1)e  Winton,  Alice    ... 
Double  Like,  The    ... 
Dressler,  Marie 

Editor,  By  the 
Edwin,  Walter 
Englishman's  Huimi;, 



Vitcigrapli     102 

...    Vitagniph     95,     140 

Evan  Strong     137 

—  172  408 
Victor  1 
Rex     162 

Vitagmph     *  1 

Hcpworth     1X3 

Lasky     *273 

—  373 
Edison     *245 

—  272 
Hepworth     *1 

Thanhoiiser     *1 

—  128 

—  80 
Regent     40(5 

—  42 
Fttiiioits  Players     *65,  271 

—  301 
Edison     *201 

—  130 
Lasky     81,   147 

—  15 
Flying  A     *345 

*172,  320  408  ' 
Hepworth     *1 

Dania  191 

Lasky  201 

—  381 

—  408 
Vitagraph  202 

—  101 

—  271 
...     Essanay     *345,  407 

Flying  A  217 

Vitagraph  368 

—  146 
Kalem  *65 

Edison     *201 
Vitagraph     *65 

—  54 
Vitagraph  *129,  172 
Vitagraph     *129,    172 

—  119 
British  &  Colonial     334 

—  80 

—  94 
35.   190,  253 

Famous  Players     *65 

—  15 

—  271 
Flying  A     352 

...     Hepworth     *65,   128 
Ltibin     328 

—  54 

75,   194,  272,  339.  402 

—  101 
British  &  Colonial     114 

INDEX — continued. 

Father's  Fj.iktation 
Farnum,  Dustin 
FiGMAN,  Max 
Fischer,  Little  Kathie 
Fischer,  Maruuerita 
Ford,  Francis 
Foster,  Morris 
Frederick  the  Great 
FuEiiER,  Mary 


Viuigraf>Ii      15() 

Lasky     *20\,  270 

Liisky     *12\),   198,   *343 

—  221 
Beauty     *34.'>,  407 

35,   lilO,  253 

—  280 
Edison     55 

29,  80,   172,  245 

Uane,  Noean 
(JisH,  Dorothy 
GisH,  Lilian 
(JooDRicH,  Edna 
Gkegers,  Em  IE 

—  155 

—  221 

—  80 
Lasky     2(il,   *273,  343 

Daiiiiiark  Filiita     *129,  198 

Hand  oe  IkOxN,  Tjie 
Hart,  W.  S. 
Hennessy,  RuTir 
Hidden    Letters,  The 
His  Last  Chance 
HoLEisTER,  Alice 
Holmes,  Gerda 
Holmes,  Helen 
Hough,  Irene  Estei-le 
Humi'HREy,  William 
HuTTON,  Leon  A 

Edison     315 

—  101 

—  140 
Vitagrut)h     273 

Imp     (j5 
42,  245 

—  272 
101,  216,  280  3()1 

—  391 

—  408 

Jacobs,   Billy 



Joyce,  Alice 

—  42 

Flying  A     303 

Flying  A     30 

Kalcni     *05,    182 

Kalich,  Bertha 
Kennedy,  Jlanita     ... 
Kent,  Charles 
Kerrigan,  J.  Warren 
KiN(iSTON,  Winifred 

Ftiinoiis  Players     271,   *273,  343 

M  llano     *345 

Vttagraph     *273,  343 

—  308 

Lasky     *201,  270 

La  Badie,  Florence 

Larkin,  George 

Law  of  his  Kind,  The 

Lesi;1e,  Helen 

Life's  Dark  Road     ... 

Lily  of  the  Valley 


Long,  Walter 

Thanhouscr     "1,  308 

—  210 
Rex     W 

—  391 
Hepworth  382 
Vitagraph     295 

Flying  A     222 

—  128,  210 

McCoy,  Gertride 

Madison,  Cleo 

Man  fro»i  Mexico,  The 

Marshall,  Boyd 

Mason,  John 

Maurice,  Mrs. 

Mitchell,  Rhea 

Moore,  Tom 

Mystery  of  Room  043,  The 

Mystery  of  the  Seven  Cjiest 

,  The 

Edison     *1,  271 

—  2]() 
Parantount     350 

Thanhouser     "201,  270 

—  405 
Vitagraph     *273,   344 

—  201 

—  35 
Essanay     30 

Selig     397 

Nation's  Peril,  A     ... 

Neill,  Dick 

Nesbitt,  Mirl\m 

Ni(iHT  Riders  of  Petersham,  Thi; 

NiLssoN,  Anna 

O'Neill,  James 

One  of  oi  r  Girj.s     ... 

One  who  Loved  him  Best, 


101  Bison     43 

—  113 

—  101 
Vitagraph     22 

Kalcni     TJO 

—  124 
.Famous  Players     108 

Edison     233 

().n  the  bckken 

On  thk  Vekcje  of  Wau 

ostbiche,  mukiel 

ItihEX—coni'inan-l.  t>age 

...   Evan  Strong     m,  125,  195,  267,  341,  403 

70/  Bison     89 
Princess  &   Thanhouser     *345,  407 

Pallette,  Eugene     ... 
Papa's  Little  Weakness 
Passing  of  Diana,  The 
Paul,  Val 
Pekkins,  Walter  E. 
PicKFORD,  Mary 
PoTEL,  Victor 
Potter  and  the  Clay,  The 
Price,  Kate 

—  155 
Bam  forth  388 
Vitagraph  129 

—  15 

—  124 
...  I'aniuus  I'laxcrs     *129,  11)8,  232,  327,  301 

...      '           ...                     —  190 

Kalent  221 

Vitagraph  "(35 

Queen  of  Diamonds,  The 


Reid,  Wallace 

Reward  of  Thrift,  Tin; 

Rich,  Vivian 

Riddle  of  the  (jREEn  Umukella,  The 

Robertson,  Lolita    ... 

Roland,  Ruth 

RoY.sTON,  Harry 

Sais,  Marin 

Scales  of  Justice,  The 

Seay,  Chas.  M. 

Selbie,  Evelyn 

Shear,  Joseph 

Shea,  William 

Shepherder,  The 

Spirit  and  the  Ci,.\v.  The 

Spitfire,  The 

Splendid  Dishonour,  A 

Stewart,  Anita 

Stonehouse,  Ruth 

Taylor,  Alma 
Tell-Tale  Scar,  The 
These  Good  Old  Days 
Thompson,  Dave 
Through  Flames  to  Fame 
Thumb  Prints  and  Diamonds 
Time  the  Great  Healer 
Toll,  The 

Travers,  Richard  0. 
Trunnelle,  Mabel 



September  Supplement 





.    Flying  A     270, 






—      94, 


Hepworth     *65, 


Kalem     *201 , 


Famous  Players 




.     Essanay     *273, 








Vitagraph     b 

,  69 

Famous   Players 








Hepworth     *129, 




Evan  Strong 














Edison     *273, 


Unwelcome  Mrs.  Hatch,  The 

Famous  Players     240 

Van,  Wa]-]>v 
ViGNOLA,  Robert  G. 
Virginian,  The 
Voice  of  Silence,  The 

—  405 

Kalem     *201,  245 

Lasky     281 

Edison     49 

Walker,  Lillian 
Walker  Robert 
Walsh,  Raoul  A. 
Warner,  H.  B. 
Washburn,  Bryant,  Herman  Wij>] 
West,  Wm. 
Welleslev,  Charle.^ 
Whitney,  Clair 
Widow's    Mite,  The 
WiLLiA.MS,  Earle 

Famous    Players     *201, 

Kalem     15, 
Edison     *273, 





YouN(;,  "  Tamm.\nv  " 






No.  1 3. 


September.  Vol.  III. 

Scene    from    "  T^f^    VOICE    OF  SILENCE,"   by   James    Wallis. 


By  Instalments ! 


The  Greatest  of  all  Great  Bargains,  and  the  Greatest  of  all  Advertising  Offers ! 

The  Lancashire  Supply  Stores, 



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''  Pidure  Stories  Magazine" 

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lit  U7viwerin'j  lulvertisemenln  pleasu 


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on  pages  3  and  4  of  cover. 


A  year  ! 

What's  in  a  year  ? 

Three-sixty  days  and  more, 

And  two  and  fifty  weeks — 

And  months,  less  eight — a  score  ! 

Twelve  months  ! 

Not  long  mdeed    - 

Time  flies,  yet  we  have  seen 

The  l.F.M.  become  the  P— 

S —  Magazme- 

'^T  is  not  a  mere  change  m  name,  it  is  the  change  in 
jii^  character  which  counts.  Twelve  months  ago  the 
•''  attempt  was  made  to  run  a  magazine  of  a  totally 
different  nature  from  those  already  on  the  British 
market.  America  had  already  a  magazine  devoted  to 
motion  picture  stones,  and  a  very  successful  one,  but 
when  the  idea  was  mooted  on  this  side  the  carpers 
prophesied  ill-luck  and  a  short  life.  They  did  not 
realise  that  public  interest  in  cinematography  was  so  deep 
and  intense  and  have  come  to  see  that  the  "  Illustrated 
Films  Monthly  "  venture  has  discredited  their  foresight. 
Great  Britain  has  such  a  mass  of  readable  literature  at 
purchaseable  price  that  any  new  publication  must  be 
prepared  for  a  fight  for  life  during  the  first  few  months 
of  its  existence;  and  it  is  only  when  the  public  declare, 
by  support,  that  a  new  magazine  is  filling  a  want,  that  it 
can  battle  its  way  out  of  the  influences  which  at  its  birth 
set  to  work  to  retard  its  progress.  Cynics  and  adverse 
critics  there  were  many  when  the  l.F.M.  started  ils  career, 
but  the  voices  of  our  friends  competely  overwhelmed 
them  now  after  twelve  months  of  successful  publication. 

A  year  ago  the  l.F.M.  appeared  to  fill  up  a  vacancy 
in  the  ranks  of  the  monthly  magazines.  It  was  the  first 
periodical  which  dealt  exclusively  with  picture  stories. 
Weakly  allempls  had  been  made  to  popularise  screen 
stories,  but  until  this  magazine  came  along  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  a  publication  giving  the  best  stories  adapted 
from  the  screen  particularly  for  the  picture  lover  had 
been  issued.  1  here  was  some  temerity  in  the  first 
step  but  lears  were  soon  dispelled,  and  to-day  we  see 
the  inlant  ol  twelve  months,  now  christened  the  "  Picture 
Stones  Magazine,"  a  vigorous  and  healthy  youngster,  die 
centre  of  interest  for  a  large  and  ever-widening  circle, 
a   D 

I I  AVE  you  ever  tried  to  realise  how  long  a   year  is 

•*■  *■  and  what  can  be  done  in  three-hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  ?  It  amounts  to  this:  There  have 
been  a  series  of  muddles,  one  or  two  strokes  of  luck, 
occasional  success,  a  deal  of  trouble  and  worry,  much 
hertrl-buinini)  on  the  side  of  the  chiel,  a  lot  of  self- 
praise,  possibly  A  holiday,  about  fifty-two  Saturdays  or 
twelve  month  ends,  something  accomplished,  a  mass  left 
undone — and  perpetual  hope.  Hope  drives  the  whole 
world  round — without  it  the  l.F.M.  would  not  now  be 
mciUiun  Pi' lure  iSlurita  Ma<jay.iii(. 

"  Picture  Storiest  Magazine."  Hope  brought  out  the 
first  number,  Hope  sustained  the  efforts  to  improve  it,  and 
Hope  is  the  light  of  the  future.  Perhaps  you  wonder 
why  the  name  of  our  magazine  has  been  altered?  Well, 
while,  as  said  in  the  previous  paragraph,  character  is  the 
thing  which  counts  and  not  the  mere  change  in  name, 
the  value  of  attraction  must  not  entirely  be  discounted. 
Old  readers  we  know  will  not  desert  us,  still  we  must 
look  for  more  and  more  new  readers.  The  title 
"  Illustrated  Films  Monthly,"  besides  being  somewhat 
cumbersome,  might  have  repelled  persons  who  had  not 
opened  the  book,  suggestmg  possibly  a  trade  journal;  but 
"  Picture  Stories  Magazine  "  says  distinctly  and  in  a 
(lash  exactly  what  the  contents  are.  So  it  is  anticipated 
that  with  a  more  popular  title  more  readers  may  be 
attracted.  Certain  it  is  that  if  they  once  read  they  will 
become  regular  subscribers.  The  "  Picture  Stories 
Magazine  "  will  be  a  great  improvement  on  the  old 
journal  ;  month  in  month  out  will  find  something  new, 
something  appealling  and  better  quality  all  round. 
Already  it  is  generally  conceded  that  the  stories  are 
equal  to  and  ofttimes  more  compelling  than  those  of  the 
majority  of  the  average  monthly,  and  the  illustrations  have 
nioie  life.  For  the  money  there  is  nothing  in  the  same 
street  with  the  "  Picture  Stories  Magazine,"  and  if  you 
have  been  pleased  in  the  past  you  will  be  delighted  in 
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VOLUME  ill.      No.    13. 

FRONT  COVER:  Scene  from  THE  VOICE  OF  SILENCE  (Edison] 



Miss  RUBY  BELASCO    ... 






THE  MYSTERY  OF  ROOM  643   ... 


A  NATION'S  PERIL      ... 



NOTE  :   These  stories  are  written   from   films  produced   by  Motion  Picture  Manufadurers 
and  our  writers  claim  no  credit   for  title  or  plot.      When  known    to   us,  the    name   of  the 
playwright  is  announced. 

...    12th 



















is  piece 






..       16 


..       22 



Flying  A 

..       36 

lOI   Bison 



..      49 


..      55 



Evan  Strong 


PICTURE    STORIES    MAGAZINE    is    printed    and  published  by  The  Camberwell   Press,    Dugdale   Street 

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MSS.  should  be  typewritten. 


The  Pills  give  new 
life  by  dispersing  im- 
purities and  gently  ridaing 
the  system  of  poisonous 
matter.  They  purify  the 
blood,  regulate  the  biliary 
secretions  and  restore  the 
impaired  condition  of  the 
stomach  and  bowels  in  all 
cases  of  Indigestion  or  Con- 
stipation. Do  not  let  your 
complaint  reach  the  chronic 
^stage  but  take  time  by  the 
Jtorelock  and  get  a  box  of 
J4olloway's  Pills  to-day. 

The  Ointment  has 
earned  a  great  and  world- 
wide reputation  by  its 
healing  powers  in  cases 
of  Piles,  Bad  Legs,  Sores, 
Boils,  Burns,  Bruises,  Chil- 
blains, Chapped  Hands,  and 
many  skin  complaints.  It 
should  be  used  in  conjunction 
with  Holloway's  Pills  which 
help  wonderfully  by  their 
purifying  action  in  cases  of 
Rheumatism,  Lumbago, 
Sciatica,  Bronchial  and 
Chest  Complaints. 


1)1  answeriiuj  adw.rtlscmentf!  i^ffnae  mmUion  I'iHurf,  Storifi}  Miujazine. 







Miss  L£AH  BAIRD 



'  Marion  would  be  about  the  size  of  this  little  burglar,  he  thought  ;  her  figure  was  llie  same,  and  the  poise 

of  the  head  identical." 

As  Fate  Willed. 

From  the  VICTOR  Drama.      Adapted  by  Rosa  Beaulaire. 

Richard  is  considered  a  good  catch  by  reason  of  his 
wealth,  youth,  and  handsome  appearance.  A  society 
belle  sets  herself  to  capture  him ;  and  by  placing  him 
in  a  compromising  position  with  her,  and  then  play- 
ing upon  his  sense  of  honour,  she  succeeds  in  gaining 
his  promise  of  marriage.  Richard  goes  to  the  seaside. 
There  he  meets  a  strange  girl  and  immediately 
realises  that  he  is  in  love  with  her.  Then  she  goes 
away  and  he  loses  her.  The  next  time  they  meet 
she  is  a  thief  in  his  own  house,  but  love  explains 
and   triumphs. 

HE  unceasing  sea  rolled  monot- 
onously on  to  dash  its  weight 
against  the  rocky  shore,  and 
watching  the  leap  forward  and 
the  recoil  to  mass  in  readiness 
for  the  next  onslaught,  one 
realised  that  this  perpetual  surging  and 
determined  attack  could  no  more  be  con- 
trolled than  the  relentless  revolution  of  the 
wheel  of  fate.  By  the  sea  one  becomes  a 
fatalist;  gazing  at  the  never-failing  shore- 
ward roll  of  the  waters  one  comes  to  under- 
stand the  mysterious  inexorability  of  destiny. 
Whatever  happens  will  be  in  accordance 
with  the  intention  of  fate,  and  there  is  no 
deliverance  from  its  power.  Dissatisfied, 
one  oft  attempts  to  break  free  and  map  out 
his  own  course ;  but  do  what  one  may,  this 
course  will  surely  converge  sooner  or  later 
on  the  road  laid  down  by  the  higher  power. 
Down  there  by  the  sea  a  scheming  mother 
and  her  daughter  laid  plans,  little  dreaming 
that  they  could  be  upset  even  when  their 
object  was  within  grasp.  In  their  human  pre- 
sumptuousness  they  imagined  they  held  the 
power  of  control  in  their  own  puny  hands  ; 
careful  plans  they  had  laid  to  capture 
Richard  Lee— a  splendid  young  man,  clever, 
rich,  an  altogether  eligible  party;  every 
possible  loophole  had  been  diligently  covered; 
nothing  that  would  interfere  with  a  success- 
ful issue  had  been  overlooked — but  fate  had 
not  been  admitted  to  the  bargain.  They 
had  not  pondered  over  the  ceaseless  roll  of 
the  seas,  or  noted  the  honeycombed  rocks, 
undermined  by  the  onslaughts  of  centuries 
and  ready  to  tumble  into  the  ocean's  maw, 
and  so  they  understood  no  might  but  that 

which  man  could  assume  for  his  own  purpose. 
Of  course  not :  the  hotel  was  their  play- 
ground ;  rugged,  uncouth  nature  made  no 
call,  the  rocks  held  no  interest  and  were  too 
coarse  in  their  wild,  rough  native  state  to 
take  interest  in.  Had  these  butterfly 
persons  heeded  the  lesson  of  the  waves  and 
rocks,  perhaps  the  biting  blow  of  fate,  when 
it  fell,  would  not  have  struck  so  deep  and 


*         *         * 

There  was  a  little  hubbub  in  the  stoep  of 
the  hotel,  verandah  it  could  hardly  be  called. 
It  overlooked  the  sea,  which,  in  the  sunset, 
presented  a  wonderful  silver  and  gold 
aspect.  However,  the  heads  of  the 
little  crowd  of  mothers  and  daughters  were 
not  turned  towards  the  sea,  but  to 
the  entrance  of  the  hotel.  The  hub- 
bub of  excitement  died  to  nothing  as  a 
stalwart,  well-dressed  young  fellow,  Richard 
Lee,  in  fact,  leapt  up  the  steps,  and  at  the 
pyschological  moment  Mrs.  Carrington  and 
her  daughter  Inez  rushed  forward  with 
effusive  welcome,  leaving  Frank  Barton,  their 
dandy  attendant,  to  fume  at  their  neglect 
and  discourtesy  to  him — for  had  he  not 
waited  on  them,  and  been  in  attendance  for 
days,  all  for  a  smile  from  Inez  1  And  now 
they  flew  from  him  unceremoniously  to  hang 
round  the  neck  of  this  magnificent  young 
male  animal,  endowed  with  more  of  the  good 
things  of  the  world  than  he  could  reasonably 
dispense  with. 

Richard  Lee  was  a  man  to  turn  any  girl's 
head.  A  dark  handsome  face,  set  and 
determined,  with  deep  fearless  eyes,  when 
serious  ;   vivacious   and  light-hearted  when 


talking,  he  was  a  good  conversationalist 
alike  amongst  men  or  women.  And  then  he 
was  a  typical  athlete,  with  a  figure  like  a 
Greek  god — no  wonder 
Liez  Carrington  was 
attracted,  for  she  was 
pretty,  with  auburn 
ringlets  framing  a  petite 
and  temperamental  face. 
Yet  she  was  empty, 
though  clever 
enough  to 
conceal  the 
fact.  Deep 
feeling  never 
possessed  her 
heart,  she  had 
too  much  love 
for  the  lux- 
uries of  the 
world,  and  the 
things  money 
can  buy,  to 
entertain  sen- 
timent pure 
and  simple. 

Barton,  the 
almost  penni- 
less pleasure- 
on  at  the 
meeting  of 
the  two  with 

envy  and  disgust.  He  saw  Mrs.  Carringford 
gush  to  Lee  as  she  introduced  her  daughter, 
and  in  that  moment  he  understood  the 
reason  why. 

"  Oh,  Mr,  Lee,  how  splendid  of  you  to 
come  down  here.  Are  you  staying  long  1  We 
heard  you  were  coming,"  cried  Mrs. 
Carrington  as  she  held  out  her  hand 
daintily,  I  am  so  pleased  to  meet  you 
again.  You  remember  the  lasttim.ewe  metl 
I  have  my  only  daughter  with  me  here.  Let 
me  introduce  you.  Inez,  this  is  Mr.  Lee, 
whom  I  have  spoken  about,  I  don't  think 
you  have  met  him  before.  This  is  my 
daughter  Inez,  Mr.  Lee." 

Poor  Lee  had  no  chance  to  put  a  word  in, 
not  even  to  say  '  How-do."  Now  he  bowed 
politely  to  the  smiling  Inez. 

'Good  evening,  Miss  Carrington,"  he 
said  quietly,  '  I  trust  you  have  been  having 
a  pleasant  time  here.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot. 
Do  you  know  the  choice  corners  about  the 
oountry  round  ^ 

He  loved  the  sea — Inez  hadLlittle  interest  in  anything 

"We  have  been  here  but  a  few  days," 
Inez  replied,  and  it  has  been  hot  and  rather 
dull.  I  have  been  out  very  little,  so  I'm 
afraid  I  do  not  know 
the  places  very  well.  I 
hope  it  will  be  more 
pleasant  for  you." 
"  Thanks,  I  hope  so 
too.  I  love  the 
wilds  and  the 
seas.  But  I 
must  not 
dilate  on  my 
delights  and 
dislikes.  I 
must  now 
wash  the  dust 
of  travel  from 
me.  It  has 
been  very 'dry 
up the country 
and  we  have 
come  through 
several  dust- 
storms.  You 
will  excuse 

Oh,  cer- 

you  will  join 
us  at  dinner, 
Mr.  Lee?" 
chimed  in 
Mrs.  Carrington  with  a  winning  smile. 

"Thank  you  very  much."  Lee  gave  a 
little  twist  to  the  other  side  of  his  mouth 
and  disappeared  through  the  stoep  doorway 
to  seek  refreshment  at  the  bar  and  in  the 

The  days  which  followed  were  not  directly 
pleasant  for  Lee.  He  liked  the  open,  he 
loved  the  sea.  Inez,  whom  Mrs.  Carrington 
attached  to  him  at  every  opportunity,  had 
little  interest  in  anything — she  was  a  hot- 
house flower  and  preferred  lolling  outside 
the  hotel,  or  lazy  driving,  to  a  swim  in  the 
tumbling  bay,  or  a  sturdy  tramp  across  the 


*         ♦         ♦ 

The  little  bay  was  alluring.  Sheltered  by- 
jutting  spurs  of  rock,  which,  turning  in- 
wards slightly  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay, 
formed  a  natural  breakwater  on  either  side. 
It  was  a  safe  bathing  place,  an  ideal  swim- 
ming pool  alike  for  the  expert  and  the 
novice.      Lee  had  found  it  years  ago  and 


whenever  he  visited  Beechcombe  he  always 
spent  an  hour  of  the  morning  there.  It  lay 
some  way  to  the  left  of  the  front  which  the 
visitors  paraded,  and  had  the  additional 
charm  of  being  unfrequented.  Lee  had 
almost  invariably  bathed  alone.  He  would 
be  up  and  have  his  "  dip  "  while  the  others 
were  at  breakfast.  This  morning,  however, 
he  was  forestalled,  though  he  had  been  in 
the  water  some  time  before  he  became  aware 
of  the  fact. 

It  was  a  soft  warm  morning,  the  sun's 
glow  was  tempered  by  the  faintest  breeze 
which  came  off  the  cooled  land,  and  the 
waters  which  flung  themselves  foaming  at  the 
cliffs  outside  the  cove  gently  lapped  the 
sands  within  the  rocky  breakwater.  Scarcely 
a  sound  broke  on  the  air  except  the  soft 
s-sisch — 6-sisch  of  the  wavelets  on  the 
pebbles,  and  the  occasional  half-smothered 
scream  of  a  gull,  as  Lee  plunged  in  and 
amused  himself  with  aquatic  feats.  Of  a 
sudden  he  became  aware  that  the  cove  had 
another  human  occupant.  Away  on  a  ledge 
of  rock,  almost  out  to  the  horn  of  the  cliff,  a 
figure  in  a  bathing  frock  was  sitting  and 
kicking  her  feet  in  the  water,  allowing  the 
spray  to  dash  over  her  as  the  waves  rolled 
up  and  spent  themselves  on  the  masses  of 
rugged  stone. 

Lee  had  no  interest  for  woman-kind,  but 
this  was  a  unique  experience;  and  without  a 
second's  thought  he  struck  out  towards  the 
lady  playing  mermaid  so  early  in  the  morning. 
She  must  be  an  exceptional  creature,  quite 
apart  from  those  he  habitually  came  in  con- 
tact with.  On  he  came  with  a  strong  over- 
arm stroke  to  within  fifty  yards  before  she 
perceived  him,  so  intent  was  she  in  her 
game,  and  then  it  was  too 
late  to  beat  a  retreat 
without  confusion,  though 
she  glanced  fur- 
tively around  to 
spy  a  way  out 
should  it  be 

Lee  was  now 
up  to  the  ledge, 
he  grasped  the 
rock  and  slowly 
hauled  himself 
out  of  the  water. 
The  mermaid 
drew  back  a  little, 
but  still  sat  on 
the    ledge    trying 

to  appear  unconcerned. 

She  was  decidedly  pretty,  thought  Lee, 
and  with  characteristic  features — a  very 
attractive  nymph.  Aloud  he  said,  "Pardon 
my  unceremonious  intrusion,  won't  you? 
People  who  bathe  so  early  allow  themselves 
some  liberty.  Will  you  tell  me  how  you 
found  this  cove  *?  I  had  always  thought  it  to 
be  my  own  special  claim,  and  to  see  you 
here  this  morning  before  me  gave  me? quite 
a  shock." 

I'm  very  sorry  if  I  have  jumped  your 
claim,"  she  answered,  with  a  whimsical 
smile,  a  trace  of  sadness,  however,  lingering 
in  her  eyes  even  as  she  laughed.  "  Had  I 
known  it  was  your  special  reserve  I  should 
not  have  intruded,  I  assure  you." 

She  is  quizzing  me,"  he  thought,  but 
she  continued  : 

I  stumbled  on  the  spot  by  accident 
yesterday,  and  being  of  a  solitary  nature,  I 
took  the  opportunity  for  a  quiet  paddle. 
There,  I  think  that  answers  your  questions 
and  excuses  me." 

Oh,  come,"  expostulated  Lee,  "  I  hardly 
framed  my  words  in  that  way  I  was  merely 
excusing  myself  for  breaking  in  on  your 
reverie.  Anyway,  if  you  will  accept  my 
excuse,  I  will  accept  yours,  and  perhaps  we 
can  be  friends  for  half-an-hour.  Will  you 
be  kind  1 "  Lee  was  captivated  at  once  by 
this  slim  little  water-girl.    He  spoke  eagerly. 

Would  you  like  me  as  your  friend  1 — I 
have  few  friends."   'A  depth  of  sadness  had 

'  He  decided  on  the  only  course  to  silence  the  gossip. 


impressed  itself  again  on  her  features. 
Already  Lee  felt  an  impulse  to  take  her  in 
his  arms — she  looked  like  one  who  needed 
a.  pair  of  strong  arms  to  protect  her. 

'  I  should  like  very  much  to  be  your 
friend,  if  you  will  let  me,"  he  replied. 
"  Shall  we  exchange  confidences  ?  My 
name  is  Richard  Lee.  I  do  nothing  except 
lounge  about  in  one  place  or  another,  with 
on  occasional  burst  of  athletic  energy.  I 
am  staying  at  present  at  the " 

"Oh,  I'd  rather  take  you  as  you  are, 
without  your  history,"  she  broke  in.  "History 
is  not  always  an  indication  of  the  present 

Well,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  your 
name  1 " 

"  My  name,  if  it  pleases  you  to  know,  is 
Marion  Stearns.  But  is  it  necessary,  when 
perhaps  we  shall  be  friends  but  half-an-hour 
and  never  see  one  another  again  ? " 

'  But  need  it  be  that  we  shall  never  see 
one  another  again  1  You  are  not  leaving  the 
neighbourhood  immediately  1 " 

"Not  right  away,  but  my  holiday  is  a 
snatched  one,  and  my  sphere  in  the  other 
world  lies  far  apart  from  yours." 

Of  spheres  we  need  not  talk:  are 
pleasanter  matters  of  conversation.  Tell 
me  now  if  you  will  come  here  again  1 " 

What  use  to  pursue  the  first  conversation 
of  this  chance  pair  further.  They  met  again 
and  again  during  the  next  few  days,  and 
before  the  week  was  out  Lee  was  madly  in 
love,  while  Marion  frankly  admired  the 
chivalrous  merman;  nay  more,  her  regard  for 
him,  because  she  knew  convention  would 
prevent  closer  union,  caused  a  deep  biting 
pain  in  her  heart.  She  watched  his  passion 
grow  stronger  with  fear  and  anguish,  and 
at  last  determined  to  flee  and  hide  her 
love  away  where  he  could  not  seek  it  out. 

Determined,  she  made  preparations  for 
flight.  The  night  before  her  departure  Lee 
met  her  in  the  moonlight  down  on  the  shore. 
The  light  came  down  the  rippling  waters  in 
a  tremulous  narrowing  band  to  where  they 
stood  on  the  rocks.  And  the  passion  of  the 
young  man  overcame  him — he  made  to  clasp 
Marion  in  his  arms,  so  dainty  she  looked  in 
the  moon's  glimmer,  so  tender,  so  truly 

No,    no,"    she    cried,  anticipating    his 

desire,  half  wanting  to  submit,  yet  fearful. 

'  But,  Marion,  dear,  I  love  you.     I  want 

you.     Won't   you  be  kind — come  to   me," 

vrhispered  Dick. 

"  I  know,  I  know:  yet  it  cannot  be.  You 
do  not  know  who  I  am  and  what  obstacles 
there  are  in  the  way  of  our  love." 

Then  you  love  me,  Marion  !  "  he  cried, 
seizing  on  her  unwitting  confession.  '  Why 
should  anything  stand  in  the  way  1  Are  the 
obstacles  so  great  that  we  cannot  overcome 
them  in  the  strength  of  our  love  1 " 

She  was  silent,  wrestling  with  a  strong 
temptation  to  yield.  But  her  awful  secret — 
if  he  should  learn  of  that  he  would  despise 
her,  and  she  could  not  risk  it.  With  an 
effort,  an  effort  which  seemed  to  her  like 
the  renunciation  of  the  whole  world  and  all 
that  is  good  in  it,  s'he  brought  herself  to  her 
earlier  decision 

"No,  it  cannot  be,"  she  repeated.  "  I 
leave  here  to-morrow  ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  try  to  find  me.  I  love  you,  indeed;  but, 
believe  me,  it  is  better  to  part  now  and  for 

Marion,  if  you  go  from  me  now  I  shall 
seek  and  find  you.  I  will  prove  to  you  the 
power  of  my  love.  Marion,  give  me  a  little 

"It  is  better  thus — there  is  no  hope.  Oh, 
say  no  more;  let  me  go — you  will  forget  and 
the  pain  will  not  be  for  long."  She  stifled 
a  sob  and  turned  from  him. 

Too  dumbfounded  and  broken-hearted  to 
speak,  to  call  her  back,  or  even  follow  her, 
Lee  watched  the  slender  figure  disappear  in 
the  night.     Then  he  returned  to  the  hotel. 

Inez  Carrington  had  got  wind  of  Lee's 
meetings  with  the  strange  girl  on  the  beach. 
She  had  noticed  his  inattention  to  her  and 
connected  it  rightly  with  the  influence  of  the 
stranger.  Scheming  and  determined  to 
capture  him,  she  set  about  a  plan  to  inveigle 
him  right  away. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  and  Lee  and 
Miss  Carrington  were  sitting  listless  on  the 
verandah  of  the  hotel.  Of  a  sudden  Inez 
jumped  up  and  clapped  her  hands  in  assumed 
glee.  Her  companion  looked  up  in 

"  What  now  ? "  he  said. 

"I  know ;  its  getting  frightfully  dull  here," 
she  cried.  'We'll  go  for  a  motor-ride.  Will 
you  take  me  in  your  car,  Mr.  Lee?" 

"  If  you  would  like  a  run,  why,  certainly," 
he  replied  politely,  but  he  did  not  appear 
very  enthusiastic  over  the  idea;  in  fact  his 
mind  was  not  present,  it  was  away  down  by 
the  little  bay,  where  he  had  first  met  the 


With  a  shrug  he  threw  off  his  mood  and 
ordered  the  car  round.  Little  did  he  know 
that  Inez  had  been  tampering  with  the 
tool  box  as 
part  of  a  subtle 
scheme  to  cap 
ture  him.  He 
was  to  find  out 
later  when  he 
could  not  draw 

They  both  got 
into  the  ear  im- 
mediately it  was 
brought      round, 
Inez    sitting    up 
by  Lee,  who  drove 
himself.       For 
miles     they    ran 
out  into  the  des- 
olate country   at 
the  foot 
of  the 
and    it 




when  Lee  turned  in  the  direction  of  home. 

Then  it  was  that  Inez  put  the  first  part  of 

her  plan  into  action.     Slyly  loosening  the 

strings  of  her  bonnet,  she  waited  till  they 

speeded    up    on   a   stretch    of    delightfully 

straight  road,  then  observing  that  Lee  was 

intent  on  driving  she  let  the  bonnet  go. 

"  Stop,  stop  the  car,"  she  cried;  "  my 
bonnet  has  blown  off." 

Lee  brought  the  automobile  up  with  a 
sudden  jerk. 

"  Is  it  far  back  1 "  he  queried. 
Yes,  it  is  some   way  back  there,"  she 
answered.        I'll  wait  here  while  you  fetch 
it — will  you  1" 

"All  right,  I  won't  be  a  minute." 

He  strode  off  with  haste.  It  was  growing 
late,  they  could  not  aff"ord  to  waste  time — if 
they  were  too  long  away  the  people  at  the 
hotel  would  begin  to  talk. 

As  soon  as  he  had  advanced  a  little  up 
the  road,  Inez  ran  to  the  tool  box,  seized  a 
spanner,  and  lifting  the  bonnet  of  the  car 
gently  she  smashed  off  a  couple  of  plugs. 
And  there  was  not  a  spare  one  left — she  had 
seen  to  that. 

Lee  returned  quickly.  The  bonnet  was 
fastened  securely  on  Inez's  head  and  the 
pair   got   into   the   automobile   again,    Lee 

'  She  almost  threw  the  symbol  at  him 

eager  to  be  off. 

But  the  car  would  not  move.     What  was 

the  matter  ?     It    was  quite  all  right  when 

slowed  down.     Lee 

was       exasperated. 

^^w'  Jumping     out     he 

discovered      the 

damage,     went     to 

the    tool    box    for 

the  spare  plugs 

and   found  the 

spanner     only. 

Examining  the 

broken    plugs, 

he  understood. 

"We  cannot 


the  car; 


are    no 





are  too 

da  ma- 

ged    to 

be     of 

use,"  he  said  quietly,  holding  up  the  battered 

parts  to  Inez's  view. 

She  smiled  inwardly,  outwardly  she  was 

"  What  shall  we  do — how  shall  we  get 
home  ? "  she  cried. 

"  Walk,  "  was  the  laconic  reply. 

But  we  cannot  walk  all  that  way  !  " 
"  We  cannot  stay  here." 
"  It  will  take  us  hours.     What  will  the 
people  at  the  hotel  think  1 " 

So  that  was  the  scheme  thought  Lee, 
Inez's  words  giving  him  the  clue.  Aloud  he 
said,  with  bitterness  in  his  voice  : 

"  The  car  will  not  move;  there  is  no  place 
near  here  where  we  can  get  assistance — 
there  is  nothing  but  to  walk  back,  or  till 
we  meet  someone  who  can  give  us  a  lift  to 
the  hotel." 

He  did  not  feel  very  kindly  towards  his 
companion,  and  indeed  the  situation  would 
be  very  awkward  if  people  began  to  talk. 

Inez  said  no  more,  but  patiently  en- 
deavoured to  fit  her  steps  to  Lee's  long, 
swinging  strides.  But  she  had  not  played 
her  last  card. 

They  had  not  marched  much  more  than 
a  mile  when  Inez  gave  a  little  scream  of 
pain  and  sank  down  in  the  roadway. 



"  Oh,  I've  sprained  my  ankle,"  she  moaned, 
and  as  Lee  bent  down  to  help  her  she 
pushed  him  away,  crying,  'No,  leave  me;  I 
cannot  move,  the  pain  is  so  bad." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  till 
they  were  picked  up.  They  were  still  miles 
from  the  hotel  and  it  would  be  impossible 
to  get  home  on  a  sprained  ankle — if  the 
ankle  was  hurt  at  all.  Lee  was  sceptical. 
He  placed  the  girl  in  a  comfortable  position 
and  they  waited  side  by  side.  It  was  dark 
now,  but  not  cold.  The  night  air  was  soft 
and  warm  and  they  suffered  no  discomfort 
on  this  score. 

It  was  morning  before  they  were  found 
and  taken  back  to  the  hotel,  and  already 
the  busy-bodies  were  talking.  Pointed 
inferences  reached  Lee's  ears,  and  at  last  he 
decided  on  the  only  course  to  silence  the 
gossips  and  save  the  girl's  reputation.  He 
asked  for  Inez's  hand  in  marriage.  The 
engagement  was  duly  announced,  and  Inez's 
cup  of  pleasure  was  overflowing  in  the 
success  of  her  scheme. 

The  summer  and  autumn  had  passed,  the 
winter  season  had  commenced  ;  and  Mrs. 
Carrington,  in  the  glory  of  her  daughter's 
capture,  had  arranged  a  great  ball,  to  which 
all  the  society  of  Ashton  had  been  invited. 
It  was  a  society  affair  on  a  large  scale.  Mrs. 
Carrington  had  excelled  herself,  and  in 
secret  had  gone  beyond  her  means  to  excite 
the  envy  of  all.  Yet  what  did  a  few  pounds 
overdrawn  matter  when  Inez  was  about  to 
marry  one  of  the  richest  men  for  miles 

Inez  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight, 
and  danced  like  an  excited  kitten  amongst 
the  guests.  Frank  Barton  was  present, 
looking  glum  and  downhearted;  but  Kichard 
Lee,  her  fiance,  and  the  star  of  the  evening, 
had  not  arrived. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  l^ee  was  fully  dressed 
for  the  ball,  but  had  no  desire  to  attend. 
He  was  thinking  of  someone  who  had  passed 
out  of  his  life,  someone  who  would  have 
brought  him  happiness,  but  who  was  lost  to 
him  for  ever.     Marion,  where  was  she  now  1 

Had  he  but  known  she  was  near  at  hand, 
but  hardly  on  an  errand  he  would  have 
thought.  Sitting  in  his  library,  the  lamps 
unlit,  he  was  in  a  sadly  pensive  mood.  The 
idea  of  the  ball  sickened  him;  he  endeavoured 
to  forget  the  whole  affair,  and  yet  the  ball 
had  been  published  far  and  wide,  and  he 
ought  to  be  there. 

Indeed,  the  ball  had  been  published  far 
and  wide,  and  the  facts  in  some  cases  had 
come  to  undesirable  notice;  for  instance,  the 
notice  of  Jack  Stearns,  crook  and  ex-convict, 
who  had  chosen  that  very  night,  because  of 
the  convenience  of  the  ball,  to  break  into 
Lee's  home.  He  came  now,  in  the  dark, 
creeping  round  the  house,  dragging  a  slender, 
unwilling  female  by  the  wrist.  Succeeding 
in  opening  one  of  the  doors,  he  pushed  his 
unwilling  companion  inside  with  muttered 
curses  and  threats  of  violence  if  she  did  not 
do  as  she  was  told. 

Once  inside  and  unable  to  retire,  the 
girl — she  was  scarcely  more  than  a  girl,  and 
wore  a  mask  —  crept  cautiously  forward, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  seeking  in  her  mind 
a  way  out  of  the  position,  the  horrible, 
revolting  business  she  was  forced  into. 
Outside  the  library  she  halted.  There  was 
no  light,  no  movement — she  stepped  inside. 
Immediately  there  was  a  blaze  of  light  and 
a  man  with  a  revolver  was  standing  over 
her,  a  form  she  seemed  to  recognise,  and  a 
voice  she  knew.  But  it  could  not  be  he  t 
She  dared  not  look  ! 

Richard  Lee  had  heard  the  slight  noise 
as  the  girl  entered,  and  in  a  flash  had  his 
Browning  ready  and  the  lights  switched  on. 

'  What  are  you  doing  here  1  "  he  said 
quietly,  his  eyes  taking  in  the  figure  of 
the  shrinking  girl  before  him. 

Marion  would  be  about  the  size  of  this 
little  burglar,  he  thought — her  figure  was  the 
same,  and  the  poise  of  the  little  head  identical. 
Lee  lowered  his  revolver. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  " 
he  asked  again,  a  coaxing  note  in  his  soft 

I  want  nothing — I  was  forced  to  enter — 

my   father "    She  could   go  no  further, 

great,  choking  sobs    checked  her  muttered 

Something  in  that  voice  brought  Lee  a 
step  forward.  He  caught  her  by  the  arm  and 
tore  off  the  mask. 

"Marion,  you!"  he  cried,  staggering  back. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  stood  trembling, 
half-turned  from  him,  trying  to  hide  her 
face  in  her  shame. 

The  sight  of  her  was  too  much  for  Lee, 
burglar  or  not.  He  wanted  her,  and  in  a 
second  she  was  in  his  arms.  As  she 
struggled  to  free  herself,  another  figure 
appeared  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Barton. 
On  the  continued  non-appearance  of  Lee  at 
the  ball,  he  had  been  sent  by  Mrs.  Carrington 


to  find  him.  Now  a  queer  smile  spread 
over  his  features,  and  he  turned  away  with 
a  triumphant  light  in  his  eyes. 

Hastening  back  to  the  ballroom  he  sought 
out  Mrs.  Carrington  and  Inez,  and  hurried 
them  to  Lee's  house  to  see  his  discovery. 
Lee  had  just  relinquished  Marion  as  they 
entered — Inez  wild  withangerand  petulance, 
Mrs.  Carrington  as  dignified  as  an  ancient 
fowl  gloating  over  a  newly-laid  egg. 

So  this  is  how  you  carry  on  intrigue 
instead  of  attending  to  your  fiancee,"  cried 
Mrs.  Carrington,  spluttering  in  her  rage. 

I  assure  you  it  is  no  intrigue,  Mrs. 
Carrington  ;  and  as  you  should  be  aware, 
the  word  should  not  fall  from  your  lips  to 
me,"  replied  Lee,  slightly  taken  aback  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  his  fiancee  and  her 

What  do  you  mean  by  having  this 
creature  in  your  house  when  you  are  still 
engaged  to  my  daughter  ? " 

That  is  my  particular  business.  As  to  my 
engagement  to  Inez,  that  is  in  her  hands." 

Lee  was  feeling  more  satisfied  with  the 
turn  of  events;  he  saw  visions  of  Marion  as 
his  wife  in  the  future.  For  a  few  moments 
he  had  tasted  of  paradise  with  her  in  his 
arms.  Would  they  release  him  so  that  he 
might  go  to  her  1  His  eyes  sought  hers  as 
she  sat  cringing  on  a  club  chair  in  the  corner 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  flee. 

"  You  shall  marry  no  daughter  of  mine, 
sir.  It  is  disgraceful  !  "  shrieked  the  irate 

"  It  has  been  your  will  all  along,"  he 

Inez  was  bursting  with  stifled  rage.  She 
could  contain  herself  no  longer.  Tearing 
the  engagement  ring  from  her  finger,  she 
flung  one  bitter,  scornful  glance  at  Marion, 
and  almost  threw  the  symbol  at  Lee. 

Lee's  fingers  closed  on  it  and  his  heart 
gave  a  big  jump.  He  did  not  hear  the 
maledictions  of  the  party  as  they  left  him — 
he  was  thinking  of  his  freedom  to  marry 

Snatching  an  opportunity,  the  frightened 
girl  sought  to  escape,  but  he  was  too  quick 
for  her.  "  Marion,  dear,  you  have  come  to 
me  ;  you  must  stay  with  me,"  he  cried  exult- 
antly, as  he  crushed  her  to  him. 

"Oh,  no.    My  father .You  do  not  realise 

that  I  am  the  daughter  of  a  convict,"  she 
burst  out  hoarsely. 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ?  I  knew  you 
would  come — what  matters  how  or  through 
what  circumstances.  Marion,  you  will 
marry  me?  See,  I  put  the  ring  on  your 
finger.     You  cannot  escape  that." 

And  she,  her  heart  overflowing  with  love 
and  joy,  realised  that  his  love  was  strong 
enough  to  overcome  all  obstacles,  and  she 
let  her  head  sink  on  his  breast  in  submission. 

"O  ATS  as  actx)rs  in  a  motion  picture  drama 
•*■*■  are  a  sufficiently  novel  sight  to  cause  the 
photoplay  patrons  who  see  them  at  work 
to  inquire  in  amazement,  "  How  on  earth  was 
it  done  ? " 

Nevertheless,  rodents  played  an  important  part 
in  Kalem's  drama,  "ACCUSED."  In  this  story, 
the  rats  steal  a  package  of  bills  and  cause  a  man 
to  be  accused  of  theft.  The  animals  are  the 
property  of  a  man  in  New  York,  who  has 
succeeded  in  teaching  them  a  number  of  tricks. 
To  get  the  rodents  to  carry  out  the  part  assigned 
to  them,  their  owner  impregnates  the  bills  with 
a  certain  odotir.  When  placed  upon  the  table, 
the  rats  sniffed  the  package,  seized  and  instinc- 
tively dragged  it  off  the  table. 

'T^HE  stor\-  of  the  American  National  Anthem 
-*•  — "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner  " — is  being 
produced  as  a  two-reel  photoplay  by  the 
Edison  Company.  Few  poems  in  the,  history  of 
literature  have  Vieen  inspired  and  conceived  more 
dramatical!}'  than  was  this  one.  It  was  written 
by  the  author,  Francis  Scott  Key,   during  the 

early  morning  of  September  14th,  1814,  whilst  a 
prisoner  of  war  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  watching 
the  bombardment  of  Fort  McHenry.  Who 
composed  the  music  has  never  been  discovered. 
In  this  production,  Edison's  are  endeavouring 
to  portray  a  true  and  accurate  history  of  the 
cause  and  effect  which  culminated  in  the  writing 
of  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner." 

THE  Universal  Film  Manufacturing  Company 
has  signed  a  contract  with  Broughton, 
whereby  his  famous  detective  stories  of  the 
adventures  of  Lawrence  Rand  will  be  filmed, 
with  King  Baggot,  the  Imp  star,  in  the  leading 

"  The  House  of  Doors,"  the  first  of  the  series 
to  be  published,  appeared  ten  years  ago  in  the 
"  Metropolitan  Magazine."  It  has  been  reprinted 
eight  times  in  America,  and  its  sequel,  "The 
Mystery  of  the  Steel  Disc,"  was  chosen  by 
Collier's  as  the  best  detective  story  ever  written 
in  America.  In  book  form  over  eight  hundred 
thousand  are  out.  There  are  forty  stories  in 
the  series. 

The  Spirit  and  the 


From    the    VITAGRAPH   Photoplay    by   Mrs.   Hartman   BreuiL 

Adapted  by  Bruce  McCall. 

"  The  Spirit  and  the  Clay  "  is  the  second  of  our  two- 
instalment  serials.  The  story  we  leave  to  the  judg- 
ment of  our  readers.  Regarding  the  film,  we  offer 
the  Vitagraph  Company  our  warmest  congratulations 
for  having  produced  such  a  magnificent  picture.  A 
finer  production  we  have  not  seen  for  weeks,  Mr. 
Darwin    Karr    is    especially   brilliant    in    the  role    of 

the  artist. 

Instalment  I. 

|0W  then,  Paul,  get  out  of  the 
way,  or  we'll  run  over  you, 
Molly  and  I." 

Paul  Ferrier  ceased   from 

his  labour  of  spreading  litter 

for  the   cattle,  and    leaning 

on  his  pitchfork,  looked  admiringly  at  the 

pretty,    roguish   face   of  the  girl  who  had 

uttered  the  dreadful  threat. 

"I  reckon  Molly  wouldn't  hurt  me.  She's 
harmless  enough.  It's  you  I'm  afraid  of," 
he  said,  with  mock  seriousness. 

The  girl  laughed  merrily.  What,  afraid 
of  me  1  Why,  if  I  was  a  great  strong  man 
like  you  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  a  girl." 

"  No  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  ain't  exactly 
afraid — ^not  afraid  enough  to  run  away,  any- 
how. But  there's  something  about  you — 
your  eyes,  now,  they  hit  me  every  time." 

Again  the  girl's  laugh  rang  out.  "  Oh, 
Paul,"  she  cried,  "how  silly  you  are.  Who's 
been  teaching  you  to  talk  like  that  1  I  do 
believe  you've  been  reading  love  stories. 
That's  the  sort  of  stuff  the  heroes  talk. 
And  you're  not  a  hero,  are  you,  Paul  *? " 
She  looked  at  him  provokingly. 

No,  I  suppose  not.  I'm  a  farm  hand, 
that's  what  I  am,  and  I've  got  too  much 
work  to  do  to  stand  gossiping.  No,  I  haven't 
though,"  he  went  on  with  a  change  of 
manner.  "  Be  quick  and  take  Molly  into 
the  shed,  and  we'll  have  a  talk  over  old 
times.  Grit  uj),  Molly  !  "  he  cried,  prodding 
with  his  fork  the  cow  which  the  girl  was 

The  patient  animal  '  got  up  "  obediently,, 
and  disappeared  into  the  shed.  The  girl, 
having  seen  that  her  favourite  was  well 
supplied  with  creature  comforts,  rejoined 

"  Come  along,  Marie,"  he  said,  "  we've 
both  done  enough  work  for  one  day.  Do 
you  know,  Marie,  I'm  about  sick  of  farm 
work.  I  reckon  there's  better  things  to  be 
done  than  ploughing  and  feeding  cattle. 
One  of  these  days " 

He  broke  off  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
girl's  troubled  face. 

"  Aren't  you  happy  here,  Paul?"  she  asked 
with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice. 

Oh,  well,  I  ain't  altogether  miserable,  if 
it  comes  to  that,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  a 
farmer  all  my  life.  I  wasn't  cut  out 
for  it.  Still,  I  won't  grumble.  I  reckon 
my  chance  will  come  one  day  if  1  wait  long 

"But  surely,  Paul,"  said  she  girl,  her  face 
still  troubled,  "you  don't  want  to  go  away 
and  leave  us  all — your  father  and  mother,, 
and — and  me  ? " 

Paul  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two ; 
then  he  said  soberly,  "  I  think  I'd  have  gone 
before  this  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  Marie. 
You've  been  a  splendid  little  chum  to  me. 
I  can  tell  you  things  I  can't  tell  to  my  father 
and  mother,  because  you — well,  somehow 
you  seem  to  understand." 

They  were  walking  through  the  farmyard 

'  Do  you  remember  the  first  day  you  came 


here  1 "  Paul  went  on.  Father  brought 

you  in  the  cart — a  tiny  little  girl  of  six,  with 
curly  hair  and  big  eyes.       You  were  afraid 
of  me  then,  I  belieA^e." 
.   "  I  wasn't,"  cried  the  girl  indignantly. 

"Well,  you  didn't  seem  to  like  it  much 
when  I  lifted  you  out  of  the  cart.  Rum 
little  kid  I  thought  you  were." 

"And  I  thought  you  were  a  big,  rough, 
ugly,  boy,"  retorted  Marie.  "  I  was  sure  I 
was  never  going  to  like  you." 

"  And  now  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind.  1  remember  you 
wanted  to  show  me  how  clever  you  were. 
The  very  first  thing  you  took  me  right  off 

her  teasing  m^anner,  I'm  sure  your  chance 
will  come  some  day,  only — only  then  you'll 
go  away,  and  perhaps  forget  all  about  us." 

"  Forget  you  !  Why,  of  course  not.  I'll 
get  on  and  make  money  ;  then  I'll  come  back 
and  marry  you,  and  give  father  and  mother 
more  money  than  they've  ever  dreamed  of." 

They  had  reached  by  now  the  outhouse 
which  Paul  used  as  a  workshop.  On  a 
rough  bench  which  he  had  put  up  were  the 
materials  with  which  he  worked,  and  a 
number  of  clay  models  in  various  stages  of 
completion.  Simple  things  they  were  for 
the  most  part — heads  of  Marie,  of  his  father 
and  mother,  and  one  or  two  small  models  of 

He  learnt  with  astonishing  ease  and  rapidity." 

to  the  barn,  and  showed  me  the  things  you 
had  been  making  out  of  clay.  You  were 
very  conceited  about  them,  I  remember." 

Paul  laughed.  "  And  I've  shown  you 
everything    I've     made     since,"     he     said. 

You've  been  my  critic  and  my  model. 
Why,  how  many  heads  of  you  have  I  done, 
I  wonder  ? " 

I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  but" — teasingly — 

they  haven't  all  been  like  me,  at  anyrate." 

"But  some  of  them  have,  and  one  day  I'll 

do  one  that'll  be  a  speaking  likeness.     I  can 

do  it,  I  know.     Oh,   if   only  I  could   have 

some  lessons." 

'Paul,  dear  Paul,"  said  the  girl,  dropping 

animals.  They  were  not  all  of  equal  merit, 
but  in  some  of  them  there  was  genius,  alive 
and    unmistakable  This    farmer's    son, 

ignorant  of  many  things,  who  had  never  had 
a  lesson  in  art,  was  yet  able  to  put  into  his 
clay  models  that  indefinable,  mysterious 
something  which  for  ever  eludes  many 
highly- trained  sculptors  who  have  spent 
years  in  the  schools.  Paul  Ferrier's  work,, 
technically  imperfect  though  it  might  be,, 
had  the  rarest  of  all  attributes  in  the  work 
of  a  man's  hands — life. 

As  yet  Paul's  only  critic  had  been  Marie. 
His  father  and  mother  only  admired  and 
wondered— a   little    disappointed   and    im- 



patient  with  the  lad  for  spending  his  time 
in  such  a  profitless  occupation.  Marie,  his 
cousin,  pointed  out  faults  where  she  thought 
they  existed,  suggested  alterations,  and 
altogether  helped  him  more  than  either  he 
or  she  realised. 

For  some  time  Paul  had  been  engaged 
upon  a  bust  of  Marie.  It  was  the  best 
thing  he  had  yet  done — a  really  remarkable 
likeness.  He  was  working  at  it  one  day 
outside  the  shed,  having  carried  his  bench 
and  his  clay  out  into  the  sunshine.  Marie, 
who  was  sitting  for  him,  was  watching  his 
clever  fingers  busily  at  work.  Both  were  so 
engrossed  that  they  did  not  see  a  stranger 
enter  the  farmyard.  A  portly,  comfortable- 
looking  gentleman  he  was,  wearing  a  wide 
sombrero  hat,  and  carrying  over  his  shoulder 

The  stranger  hardly  heard  him.  He  had 
picked  up  the  bust  and  was  examining  it 

"a  portrait,  I  see,''  he  said,  with  a  glance 
at  Marie.  "Excellent  work,  too.  Have 
you  anything  else  to  show  me  1  " 

Paul  produced  a  number  of  other  models, 
and  the  stranger  ran  a  critical  eye  over  them. 

"  My  lad,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  have 
the  gift.  You  are  a  born  sculptor — a  genius. 
You're  untaught,  of  course,  I  can  see  that ; 
but  with  training  you  could  do  anything. 
Why  don't  you  come  to  New  York  1 " 

Paul  stammered  out  something  about  not 
being  able  to  afford  it. 

"  H'm,"  said  the  stranger,  thoughtfully. 
"  Well,  I  daresay  that  might  be  arranged. 
Genius  like  yours  ought  to  have  its  chance. 

^  is                 .  i 


if             i 

H  .-^               'wd 



ix^   . 

■flpn^takW  ' .  \  ^i^^< 

m  -  'SB^r.'.^rln 



B                              ii^  -j^F- 

L      '^'#    " 


W^'-"                '^^^WiVt 

W          Sjf'^ 



K  ^-**«-^ 

' '  He  pressed  a  bundle  of  notes  into  Paul's  hand. ' 

an  artist's  portfolio.  He  looked  about  the 
yard,  and  then  walked  across  to  Paul  and 
Marie.  His  hearty  "good  morning  "  brought 
them  to  their  feet. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Paul."  "  Do 
you  wish  to  see  my  father  ?  He's  about  the 
place  somewhere.     I'll  fetch  him." 

No,  no,"  said  the  stranger.  I  came  in 
to  see  if  there  was  a  chance  of  getting  some 
lunch— just  a  snack  and  a  drink  of  milk. 
I'm  an  artist,  and  have  been  making  a  few 
sketches  in  the  neighbourhood.  Why, 
you're  an  artist  too,"  he  said,  with  sudden 
interest.     "  May  I  look  1 " 

Of  course,  but  I'm  afraid  it's  not  of 
much  account,"  said  Paul,  diffidently.  "I've 
never  had  any  lessons,  you  see." 

Look  here,  my  name  is  Galton — John 
Galton.  I  daresay  you've  heard  of  me  ? 
No  *?  Well,  I'm  the  principal  of  an  art 
school  in  New  York,  and  I'd  like  to  have 
you  as  a  student.  Never  mind  about  the 
money,  I'll  see  to  that." 

Paul's  face  lit  up,  and  then  grew  gloomy. 
I'm  afraid  father  can't  spare  me,"  he  said. 
"  He  needs  my  help  on  the  farm." 

Marie,  who  had  listened  to  the  conver- 
sation with  mingled  feelings,  torn  between 
dread  of  losing  Paul  and  anxiety  that  he 
should  have  the  chance  he  so  ardently 
desired,  now  put  in  a  word. 

"  Perhaps  we  might  be  able  to  manage," 
she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  for  a  time,  anyhow." 

"  Well,    let's   go   and   see   your   father," 



said  Mr.  Galton,  "and  hear  what  he  says 
about  it." 

The  farmer  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
house,  and  when  Mr.  Galton  made  his 
proposal  the  old  man  met  it  with  an 
emphatic  refusal. 

'  No,"  he  said.  "  Paul  ain't  going  to  New 
York  to  waste  his  time.  I  don't  hold  with 
them  artist  fellers — no  offence  meant,  of 
course,  sir." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Galton,  hand- 
somely. "  But  your  son's  a  genius,  and  if 
you  can  see  your  way  to  let  him  come  to 
New  York  he  may  become  a  great  sculptor. 
I'm  sure  you  would    not  wish  to  stand  in 

hire  a  man  to  fill  his  place." 

It  was  settled,  however,  that  Paul  should 
have  his  chance ;  and  when  Mr.  Galton 
called  next  day  he  found  the  young  man 
full  of  gratitude  and  eager  anticipation,  and 
his  parents  already  resigned  to  his  approach- 
ing departure.  Marie  was  as  excited  as 
Paul  himself,  but  when  the  moment  came 
for  him  to  leave  the  old  home  and  set  out 
with  Mr.  Galton  for  New  York,  she  broke 
down,  and  was  only  half  consoled  by  Paul's 
assurance  that  he  would  write  to  her  every 
day  and  tell  her  all  his  doings. 

Paul,  raw  country  lad  as  he  was,  felt  very 

'  By  jove,   Marie,  it's  the  very  thing,'  he  cried. 

his   light." 

He  put  the  matter  so  forcibly,  and  his 
persuasiveness  and  the  pleading  of  Paul  and 
Marie  had  such  an  effect  on  the  old  farmer 
that  at  last  he  promised  to  think  the 
matter  over. 

"That's  right,"  said  Mr.  Galton,  as  he 
was  leaving.  "  I'll  look  in  again  to-morrow 
to  hear  your  decision." 

Already  weakening,  when  the  old  man 
found  that  his  wife  was  also  in  favour  of  the 
proposal,  he  gave  way,  though  in  no  very 
good  grace. 

I  don't  know  what  we'll  do  on  the  farm 
without  him,"  he  said.      "We  can't  afford  to 

awkward  and  ill-at-ease  when  Mr.  Galton 
took  him  into  the  modelling  room  at  the 
great  art  school  and  introduced  him  to  the 
young  men  and  girls  who  were  now  to  be  his 
fellow  students.  They  were  a  jolly,  com- 
panionable set,  however,  and  very  soon  made 
Paul  at  home.  His  heart  failed  him  a  little 
when  he  saw  them  at  work.  They  seemed 
so  much  cleverer  than  he,  and  he  thought 
with  dismay  of  his  clay  masterpieces  at  the 
farm,  which  now  seemed  so  poor  and  insig- 
nificant. As  he  became  more  accustomed 
to  his  surroundings,  however,  and  made 
friends  among  the  other  students,  the  feeling 
of  diffidence  passed    away,    and    he    threw 



himself  heart  and  soul  into  his  studies.  He 
learned  with  astonishing  ease  and  rapidity, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  his  promise  was 
recognised  and  he  came  to  be  regarded  as 
the  school's  most  brilliant  student. 

Mr.  Galton  did  not  stint  his  praise,  and 
the  other  masters  were  always  ready  with 
encouragement  and  help.  The  remarkable 
progress  which  he  made  might  have  turned 
a  less  steady  head,  but  Paul  was  very  modest 
over  his  achievements,  and  always  ready 
with  generous  praise  of  those  of  his  fellows. 
The  result  was  that  he  was  the  most  popular 
as  well  as  the  cleverest  student  in  the 

A  number  of  wealthy  and  influential 
people,  artists  and  art  lovers,  were  interested 
in  the  school  and  in  the  work  of  the  students, 
who  had  become  quite  accustomed  to  having 
visitors  standing  near  them  and  watching 
them  at  work. 

One  day  Mr.  Galton  appeared  in  the 
work-room,  accompanied  by  a  tall,  elderly 
gentleman,  with  a  clever,  intellectual  face. 
They  walked  straight  up  to  the  bench  where 
Paul  was  at  work  upon  a  bust  in  the  classic 
style,  the  head  crowned  with  a  wreath  of 
bays.  They  stood  a  few  moments  watching 
Paul  at  work,  and  then  Mr.  Galton  said  : 
*  This  is  the  young  man  I  was  speaking  to 
you  about.  He's  by  way  of  being  our  show 
student.  Paul,  this  is  Dr.  Gordon.  He's 
interested  in  your  work." 

Paul  stood  up  in  his  long  sculptor's  over- 
all and  bowed.  Dr.  Gordon  put  out  his 

'I've  heard  great  things  of  you,"  he  said. 

I  want  you  to  show  me  something  you've 
done,  if  you  will  be  so  good." 

Paul  flushed  with  pleasure  and  embarrass- 
ment, but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not 
think  of  anything  to  say.  Dr.  Gordon 
stepped  forward  to  the  bench  and  took  up 
the  bust. 

Excellent  "  he  said.  '  Very  fine  work 
indeed.  I  see,  Galton,  that  your  praise  was 
justified.  You  ought  to  have  a  brilliant 
future,  Mr.  Ferrier.  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on 
you.  I  might  even  buy  some  of  your  work. 
I'd  rather  like  to  be  your  first  x>atroii." 

I'm  sure  you're  very  good,"  said  Paul, 

Not  at  all,  not  at  all ;  I'm  on  the  look- 
out for  bargains.  Besides,  I  might  get  my 
name  in  your  biography — who  knows? 
Well,  good-bye.  Let  me  see  that  bust  when 
it  is  finished.     Come  along,  Galton,   I  must 

be  off"  now." 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone  the  other 
students  thronged  around  Paul  and  chorused 

"  Your  fortune's  made,  my  boy,"  cried 
Emil  Becker,  Paul's  particular  chum. 

"Get  out!"  said  Paul,  highly  delighted 
nevertheless.  "  Who  is  Dr.  Gordon,  anyway?" 

"  My  !  haven't  you  heard  of  Dr.  Gordon  1 " 
cried  one  of  the  girls.  "  He's  as  rich  a& 
Croisus.  He's  a  heart  specialist ;  he  make& 
heaps  of  money,  and  spends  a  lot  of  it  on 
pictures  and  statuettes  and  things.  He's  got 
a  collection  worth  a  million  dollars.  He 
knows  good  work  when  he  sees  it,  and  if  he 
thinks  yours  worth  buying — well,  you  can 
bet  it  is." 

All  things  considered,  it  was  little  wonder 
that  Paul  went  back  to  his  work  full  of  high 
hopes  for  the  future.  In  a  few  days  th& 
bust  was  finished,  and  Dr.  Gordon  came 
again.  He  picked  up  the  bust  and  examined 
it  critically.  "  It's  good,  very  good,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  I  mustn't  praise  it  too  highly  or  I 
shall  make  you  conceited.      Will  you  sell  ?  " 

Paul  hesitated.  "  If  you  think  it  worth 
buying,"  he  said. 

"  Right  !  Shall  we  say  three  hundred 
dollars  1  " 

The  generosity  of  the  offer  almost  took 
Paul's  breath  away. 

"  Oh,    but   it's    too    much.     I really 

couldn't  think " 

" Nonsense," said  Dr.  Gordon;  "it's  worth 
it.  It  will  be  worth  double  in  a  few  years 
when  you've  made  your  name.  Well,  we'll 
call  it  a  sale.  Here's  the  money."  He 
pulled  out  a  pocket  book  and  pressed  a 
bundle  of  notes  into  Paul's  hand,  cutting 
short  the  young  fellow's  stammered  thanks. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Paul  Ferrier  !  "  cried 
Mr.  Galton,  and  led  the  cheers  himself. 

The  students  shouted  themselves  hoarse,, 
and  Paul  wanted  to  run  away  to  hide  his 
confusion.  It  all  seemed  like  a  dream,  but 
the  crisp  notes  in  his  hand  were  real  enough. 

How  delighted  they  would  be  at  the  farm 
when  he  wrote  and  told  them — his  father 
and  mother,  and  Marie.  They  were  his  first 
thought,  and  were  often  in  his  mind 
during  months  that  followed.  Dr.  Gordon's 
patronage  proved  of  great  value  to  him,  and 
commissions  began  to  come  in.  All  his 
pations  were  not  as  generous  as  Dr.  Gordon, 
but  he  soon  found  that  he  was  making  a 
very  satisfactory  income,  so  satisfactory  that 
he  began  to  think  about  taking  a  holiday. 



Meanwhile  matters  had  not  been  going 
^ery  well  at  the  farm.  Paul  had  been  sadly 
missed.  His  father  was  an  old  man,  no  longer 
■able  to  work  as  he  had  done  in  the  days 
of  his  strength.  Marie  laboured  uncom- 
plaingly,  taking  upon  her  young  shoulders 
much  of  the  toil  which  needed  a  man's  thews 
and  sinews.  She  was  not  strong,  however, 
-and  often  in  those  days  a  curious  faintness 
■came  over  her,  and  she  had  to  stop  and  rest 
for  a  time  until  it  had  passed.  But  with  all 
her  efforts  the  need  for  more  help  on  the 
farm  was  very  evident. 

At  last  things  came  to  such  a  pass  that 
the   old  man   laboriously  wrote  a  letter  to 

protested  that  the  work  was  too  hard  for 
her — it  was  a  man's  work  ;  but  she  pleaded 
so  hard  that  at  last  he  yielded,  and  the 
letter  was  not  sent. 

A  few  days  later  Marie  was  in  the  farmyard 
when  a  cart  drew  up  in  the  road,  and  a  well- 
dressed,  stalwart  young  fellow  sprang  out, 
swing  open  the  gate  and  walked  briskly  to- 
wards the  house. 

The  girl  ceased  her  work  and  stood  for 
a  moment  quite  still.  Then  the  young  man 
called  her  name  and  she  ran  to  meet  him. 

"  It's  Paul !"  she  cried.  "Uncle!  Aunt! 
Here's  Paul  come  home." 

By  the  time  the  old   farmer  and   his  wife 

"  I'aul   ut   M  ui  k 

Paul,  demanding  his  return. 

You  must  come  home,"  it  ran.  "We  need 
you.  Money  is  scarce,  and  we  cannot 
.afford  to  pay  for  help." 

Marie  came  into  the  farm  kitchen  as  her 
uncle  was  addressing  the  envelope.  He  gave 
it  to  her  to  post. 

"  I'm  telling  Paul  to  come  back,"  he  said. 
We  can't  go  on  any  longer  this  way." 
Oh,  no,"  cried  Marie  in  distress  ;  "  don't 
•do  that.  He's  getting  on  so  well,  and  if  he 
gave  it  up  now  everything  would  be  spoiled. 
Let  him  stay  in  New  York,  uncle.  I  can 
do  his  work  and  mine  too."     The  old  man 

|H  dotal 

had  got  to  the  door  of  the  house  the  girl 
was  in  Paul's  arms. 

"Oh,  Paul!"  she  said.  "Why  didn't 
you  write  and  say  you  were  coming  1 " 

Paul  kissed  her  several  times  before  he 
replied  laughingly,  "  I  thought  Pd  like  to 
surprise  you  all.  Hullo  !  father,  mother  ! 
Why,  bless  me  !  you  don't  look  a  day 
older  than  when  I  went  away,  and  Marie  is 
prettier  than  ever  !  " 

"  She's  good  as  well  as  pretty,"  said  his 
mother  soberly.  "  She's  done  your  work  as 
wall  as  her  own  since  you've  been  away." 

"  That  she  has,"  said  the  farmer.   "I  don't 



know  what  we'd  'a'  done  without  her.     We 
couldn't  aftbrd  to  hire  help." 

For  the  first  time  Paul  realised  what  sac- 
rifices had  been  made  to  keep  him  at  New 
York,  and  his  face  grew  serious. 

"  She's  a  brick,"  he  said.  "  But  that's  all 
over  now.  Here's  plenty  of  money,  father  ; 
you  can  hire  as  much  help  as  you  want  now. 
I'm  well  off,  and  you  won't  need  to  work 
any  more.  You'll  have  to  get  somebody  to 
take  Marie's  place  as  well,  for  I'm  going  to 
take  her  back  to  New  York  with  me." 

Hold  on  there,"  said  his  father.  ''  I  don't 
know  as  we  can  spare  her." 

But  Paul  was  already  walking  oft' with  his 
cousin,  and  his  arm  was  round  her  waist. 

"I  s'pose,"  said  the  old  farmer,  "we'll 
have  to  let  her  go." 

Yes,"  said  his  wife  ;  "seems  to  me  we 
can't  help  ourselves." 

Well,  we  can  afford  to  pay  a  couple  o' 
men  now.  Fancy  the  boy  making  all  that 
money.  Seems  as  if  he'd  struck  somethin' 
better  than  farmin',  anyhow." 

Paul  and  Marie  had  gone  to  a  secluded 
nook  where  they  had  played  as  children, 
and  where,  as  they  grew  older,  the  lad  had 
poured  into  his  cousin's  sympathetic  ear  his 
dreams  of  success  in  the  great  world.  Those 
dreams  seemed  now  in  a  fair  way  to  be  ful- 
filled ;  and  Paul  had  another  story  to  tell,  to 
which  Marie  listened  with  head  bent  to  hide 
her  tell-tale  blushes.  Only  when  Paul  slipped 
on  her  finger  a  ring  which  he  had  brought 
from  New  York  did  she  raise  her  eyes  to 
his — trusting  eyes  and  full  of  love.  It  was 
a  short  engagement,  for  Paul's  holiday  had 
to  be  brief.  In  a  few  days  he  left  the  farm 
and  went  back  to  New  York,  and  this  time 
Marie  was  with  him. 

Paul  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  find 
a  house  with  a  large,  well-lighted  room 
which  served  excellently  as  a  studio,  and 
Marie,  who  was  enthusiastically  interested 
in  his  work,  spent  several  hours  there  with 
him  every  day.  For  six  months  they  had 
never  a  care  in  the  world.  Then  one  morn- 
ing that  curious  feeling  which  Marie  had 
experienced  several  times  at  the  farm  came 
upon  her.  Paul  was  alarmed,  and  insisted 
upon  her  seeing  Dr.  Gordon. 

Afterwards,  when  he  .saw  Paul  the  doctor 
had  a  grave  report  to  make. 

"  Your  wife  is  seriously  ill,  Ferrier,"  he 
said.  It's  her  heart — she's   strained    it 

somehow.      Working  beyond  her  strength, 
I  should  think.     Do  you  know  if  it  is  so  1 " 

Yes,  I  do,"  said  Paul.  "  She  worked 
for  me — did  my  work  on  the  farm  as  well 
as  her  own,  so  that  I  could  stay  on  in  New 
York.  And  I  never  knew,  never  thought 
even.  Oh,  what  a  brute  I've  been  !  It's 
owing  to  her  that  I  am  here  to-day.  And 
now,  perhaps "     His  voice  broke. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Dr.  Gordon,  "  that  was 
the  cause,  no  doubt.  She  wants  rest,  a  good 
long  rest,  and  I  daresay  she'll  make  a  good 
recovery.  But  you  must  send  her  away  at 

And  so  Paul  wrote  to  his  father,  telling 
him  what  the  doctor  had  said.  "I'm  send- 
ing her  to  you  and  mother,"  he  wrote. 
Take  care  of  her.  She  must  have  complete 

There  was  another  matter  in  Paul's  mind 
at  this  time.  He  had  received  a  letter  from 
his  friend,  Emil  Becker,  stating  that  a 
Statue  of  Fame  was  to  be  erected  before  one 
of  the  great  public  buildings  of  the  city. 
A  number  of  well-known  sculptors  were 
to  submit  models  for  competition.  You 
must  enter,"  Emil  wrote.  "  If  your  model 
is  chosen  it  will  be  the  making  of  you." 

The  idea  appealed  to  Paul.  He  had  had 
a  multitude  of  small  commissions,  but  they 
failed  to  satisfy  his  ambition.  He  wanted 
to  do  something  great.  If  he  succeeded  in 
obtaining  the  commission  for  this  statue 
he  would  step  straight  into  the  front  rank. 
The  desire  to  win  soon  filled  his  mind  to 
such  an  extent  that  for  the  time  he  even 
forgot  all  about  his  anxiety  for  Marie. 
On  the  morning  of  the  day  which  had  been 
fixed  for  her  departure  he  had  arranged  to 
interview  a  number  of  models  to  see  if 
among  them  there  might  be  the  one  he 
needed  for  his  statue.  It  pained  Marie  to 
see  how  much  he  thought  of  the  statue, 
and  how  little  of  her,  on  this  of  all  days. 

The  models  were  a  sorry  company.  They 
were  stiff  and  awkward,  and  of  anything 
but  heroic  mould.  Paul  dismissed  one  after 
another  in  despair ;  and  when  Marie,  ready 
to  go,  entered  the  studio  to  say  good-bye,  she 
found  him  sitting  in  a  chair,  the  picture  of 

"  Why,  Paul,"  she  said,  "  what  on  earth 
is  the  matter?" 

"  Everything,"  was  the  gloomy  reply.  I 
can't  get  a  model  for  that  statue.  I  never 
saw  such  a  wooden  lot.  They  can't  even 
stand  properly.     I  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

Marie  stood  a  moment  thinking.  She 
knew    what   a   terrible    disappointment    it 



would  be  to  Paul  if  lie  could  not  submit  a 
design  for  competition.  She  had  acted  as 
his  model  often  at  the  farm,  and  he  had 
talked  to  her  so  much  about  his  idea  for 
this  statue  that  she  knew  exactly  the  pose 
he  required.  Quickly  she  made  up  her 
mind,  threw  off  her  hat  and  her  outdoor 
things,  and  mounted  the  pedestal  which  he 
had  prepared,  and  held  out  her  arms. 

He  had  his  back  turned  to  her  until  she 
called  him. 

'  Paul !     Is  this  anything  like  it  ?  " 
By  jove,  Marie,  it's  the  very  thing  !  "  he 
cried.     "  Keep  just  like  that ! " 

He  began  to  work  with  feverish  haste. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Dr.  Gordon 
and  Mr.  Galton  came  into  the  studio.  The 
doctor  started  back  with  an  exclamation  on 
seeing  the  girl  on  the  pedestal.  Already 
he  could  see  she  was  exhausted,  almost  fit 
to  drop.  An  angry  look  came  on  his  face, 
and  he  took  a  step  towards  Paul,  who, 
wholly  engrossed  in  his  work,  had  not  even 
seen  the  newcomers. 

Marie  leaned  from  the  pedestal  and 
touched  the  doctor's  shoulder. 

No,"  she  whispered.  "  I  can  stand  it 
quite  well,  and  it  means  so  much  to  him. 
Go  away,  please — do  go  away." 

Dr.  Gordon  gasped  with  astonishment, 
stood  irresolute  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
taking  Gal  ton's  arm,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

He  was  back  in  a  minute  or  two,  and 
walked  straight  up  to  Paul. 

I  told  you,  you  must  send  your  wife 
away  at  once,"  he  said,  angrily,  and  I  find 
you  using  her  as  a  model.  She  can't  do  it — 
do  you  hear?  It  will  kill  her  to  stand 
there.     She's  almost  falling  now." 

Paul  was  startled,  but  a  look  at  his  wife 
reassured  him.  She  was  smiling,  and 
nodded  to  him  to  go  on  working. 

"  Marie's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  In  a  day 
or  two  she  can  go,  but  I  need  her  now." 

Dr.  Gordon's  wrath  blazed.     "It's  wicked, 
brutal,   criminal,  I  tell  you  !     Good  God  ! 
it's  murder — sheer  murder  !  " 
{To  he  concluded). 

"PRIENDS  of  Val  Paul,  of  the  McRae  101 
■*-  Bison  Company,  are  offering  him  belated 
congratulations.  It  appears  that  shortly 
before  the  company  set  sail  for  Hawaii,  Val 
approached  a  certain  young  lady  with  a  certain 
proposal,  and — well,  Mrs.  Paul  was  May  Foster, 
known  on  the  vaudeville  stage  as  "  The  Queen 
of  Ragtime." 

VINNIE  BURNS,  who  was  slightly  injured  by 
falling  from  a  window  during  the  staging 
of  the  Solax  Feature,  "The  Monster  and 
the  Girl,"  has  completely  recovered,  and  will 
shortly  begin  work  in  a  new  and  startling  Blache 
picture.  Miss  Burns  received  letters  of  sympathy 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  where  the  daring 
feats  of  this  little  actress  have  won  her  friends 
and  admirers  in  large  numbers.  Miss  Burns,  it 
must  be  remembered,  is  only  17  years  of  age,  and 
has  the  distinction  of  being  the  youngest  cinema 

PHOTOPLAY  patrons  will  find  it  diflBcult  to 
-^  recognise  William  Herman  West,  the  ver- 
satile Kalem  actor,  in  the  spectacular  five- 
part  photoplay  version  of  the  famous  old  drama, 
*'  Shannon  of  the  Sixth,"  just  completed  by 
Kalem.  Mr.  West  portrays  the  role  of  an  East 
Indian  high  priest  in  this  story, which,  by  the  way, 
is  based  upon  the  Sepoy  rebellion  in  India.  To 
clad  his  work  with  realism,  Mr.  West  studied  the 
Hindoos,  who  are  found  in  considerable  numbers 

in  California.  In  one  white-haired  old  individual 
he  found  the  very  type  he  desired.  A  study  of 
literature  pertaining  to  the  Brahman  faith  gave 
him  the  information  concerning  the  religious 
services.  Incidently,  photoplay  patrons  will  see 
one  of  the  most  realistic  expositions  ever  filmed, 
when  a  building  in  which  white  women  and 
children  are  hidden,  is  blown  up  to  prevent  their 
falling  captives  to  the  Sepoys. 

VIOLA  DANE,  well  known  on  the  legitimate 
stage  through  her  appearance  in  "  The 
Poor  Little  Rich  Girl,"  which  was  pioduced 
in  London  a  few  seasons  ago,  has  signed  a 
contract  to  appear  in  pictures  produced  by  the 
Edison  Company.  Her  debut  on  the  screen  will 
be  made  in  "  Molly,  the  Drummer  Boy,"  an 
American  Civil  War  story,  shortly  to  be  released. 
The  Edison  Company  congratulates  itself  on 
obtaining  such  a  valuable  addition  to  the  stock 

SEVERAL  of  the  performers  attached  to  the 
Keystone  Company's  establishment  at  Los 
Angeles  are  in  the  studio  hospitals  as  a  result 
of  unusually  vigorous  work  in  a  film  entitled 
"  The  Alarm,"  in  which  there  is  a  scene  showing 
a  runaway  fire  engine  going  over  a  blufi'.  This 
release  was  staged  by  Mack  Sennett,  and  centres 
about  the  rivalry  between  city  and  country  fire 

The  Law  of  his  Kind. 

Adapted  from  the  REX  Film  Drama  by  Owen  Garth. 

To  Colonel  Pritchard,  the   honour  of  his   family 

is  more  than  life  itself.     When   he  finds  that  he 

is  married  to  a  lady   of   more   than   questionable 

virtue  he  shoots  himself. 

!)HERE  was  hustle  and  bustle  in 
the  "Inverness  Arms,"  and  not 
a  slight  suspicion  of  shocked- 
ness,  for  young  Ian  Pritchard, 
lieutenant  in  the  —  Borderers, 
had  come  in  and  ordered 
accommodation,  attended  by  a  beautiful 
woman,  unknown  to  the  host. 

Still,  she  looked  a  lady,  and  who  could 
know  but  that  the  devil-m'-care  young 
lieutenant  had  not  married  secretly?  In- 
deed, Nina,  who  hung  gracefully  on  lan's 
arm,  looked  every  inch  a  lady.  As  tall  as 
Ian,  lithe  of  form,  with  a  fascinating  intelli- 
gent face,  and  wondrous  eyes,  now  bold, 
now  modest,  she  made  a  fitting  companion 
to  her  cavalier  ;  and  the  host,  honest  old 
Roderick  Duncan,  was  not  disposed  to  ask 
questions,  for  was  not  Ian  nephew  of  Colonel 
Pritchard,  of  Craig  Dhu,  a  mighty  power 
round  about  ?  And  it  was  said  that  he  had 
made  Ian  his  heir. 

Hurry  along,  Duncan,"  cried  Ian,  im- 
patiently. '  I'm  waiting  for  you  to  tell  me 
supper  is  ready.  I'm  jolly  hungry,  and  I 
dropped  in  here  because  I  imagined  you  to 
l)e  the  man  to  put  something  appetising 
before  me  in  a  minute.  Now  you  stand 
gaping  as  if  you  take  me  for  an  apparition. 
It's  all  right,  man.  I'm  solid  flesh  and  no 
spook,  as  you'll  agree  when  you  set  the  meal 

Pardon,  sir.  I  was  somewhat  surprised 
at  seein'  ye  this  evenin', "  responded  Duncan, 
jumping  round  to  tell  his  wife  to  see  to 
supper.  "  Wull  ye  come  this  way,  sir.  All 
wull  be  ready  in  a  mineet." 

But  supper  was  destined  not  to  be  eaten 

at  once.     A  voice  outside  was  heard  calling 

Duncan,"    at   the  moment.       Ian  gave  a 

start,  while  Duncan  remained  rooted  to  the 

spot  and  glanced  furtively  to  the  lieutenant. 

Colonel     Pritchard  !  "     he    ejaculated. 

Duncan,  where  the  devil  are  you,  man  1 " 
came  the  voice  again  from  the  doorway. 
"'  Oh,  there  you  are.  Why  didn't  you 
answer,  man?  Couldn't  you  hear  me? 

What  the  thunder  are  you  doing  here, 
sir  1  "  shouted  the  newcomer,  a  middle-aged, 
upright  man,  just  ^oing  grey.  He  turned 
with  an  air  of  outraged  astonishment  on 
Ian,  who  was  endeavouring  to  release  Nina's 
arm  from  his  and  motion  her  to  leave  his  side. 

'■  What  are  you  doing  here  1  I  imagined 
you  were  at  Stirling,  with  your  regiment," 
cried  Colonel-  Pritchard;  for  it  was  truly  he 
on  a  run  down  to  the  town  to  attend  to 
a  special  commission  he  would  not  entrust 
to  a  servant. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  I  had  a  couple  of  day's 
leave,  and  I  thought  to  run  up  to  see  you," 
muttered  Ian,  with  an  apologetic  air. 

"  Coming  up  to  see  me  with  a — a  lady, 
and  stopping  here.  Don't  try  to  bamboozle 
me,  sir.  I  won't  have  it.  I  tell  you  I 
won't  have  it." 

Colonel  Pritchard  was  purple  with  rage. 
Duncan  was  standing  out  of  the  way,  waiting 
with  shivers  the  turn  of  events.  His  wife 
had  flopped  her  somewhat  ponderous  figure 
on  to  a  chair  in  horror. 

Nina  clung  to  Ian,  who  was  also  fast  losing 
his  temper.  '  Say  what  you  like,  sir,"  he 
cried,  "  but  leave  the  lady  out  of  the 

"  Who  is  the  lady  ?  What  is  she  to  you?" 
flung  back  the  firey  old  colonel.  "What  is 
she  to  you,  sir  ?    I  have  a  right  to  know." 

"l  think  you  are  presuming  on  your  right. 
You  are  too  much  in  a  temper  to  realise  the 
impudence  of  your  inquiry." 

'  Impudence  !  Impudence,  you  insolent 
young  cub!  How  dare  you  talk  to  me  of 
impudence  ?  Go  back  to  your  quarters. 
You  will  hear  from  me  again."     And  the 



colonel  stamped  towards  the  entrance, 
brushing  aside  Duncan,  who  came  forward 
with  a  deprecating  air,  wrapped  up  in 

"All  right,  sir.     I  shall  do 
as  you  desire,"  sent  Ian  after 
the  retreating  figure;  "'  but  I 
would  remind  you  that  I  am 
of  age,  and  you  can  no  longer 
exercise     your      powers      of 
guardianship     over 
my     every      move- 
ment.    Perhaps  we 
shall  meet  when  you 
are  cooler." 

Do  as  you  are 
told  and  don't 
answer  back.  You 
are  insolent,  sir," 
shouted  the  colonel 
as  he  disappears  I, 
slamming  the  door 
behind  him. 

"  That  has  cooked  luy 
goose,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
Ian,  turning  to  Nina. 
"  I  must  not  go  against 
the  old  man  too  far,  or  I 
shall  be  cut  off." 

"  What  a  violent  old 
spitfire!  How  can  you 
be  dictated  to  by  him? 
Are  you  a  baby  still  1 " 

Nina  simulated  a 
shudder  as  she  spoke. 
"  You  won't  go  back  to 
the  barracks  as  he  said, 
will  you  1  "  "Attended  by  i 

■'I'm   afraid   I    must  unknown 

— it  doesn't  do  to 
provoke  him  too  much.  When  he  is  in  a 
rage  one  doesn't  know  what  he  will  do. 
Still,  he  is  not  a  bad  sort.  In  fact,  I'm  fond 
of  the  old  uncle.  He's  been  as  a  father  to  me. 
And  he  can  be  jolly  at  times. 

'  But  surely  you  are  not  going  to  run  off 
now,  at  once,  like  a  little  boy  who  has  been 
whipped  for  stealing  jam  ? " 

"  Well,  not  at  once  exactly.  We'll  have 
supper  and  I'll  just  catch  the  last  train.  Hi, 
Duncan,"  to  the  worried  landlord,  "  is  that 
meal  ready?  We'll  have  it  now,  and  see 
that  my  traps  are  on  the  last  train.  I  shall 
go  back  to-night." 

.  Ian  went  back  to  (luarters,  but  he  had  no 
further  interview  with  his  uncle,  for  the  war 
bugles  were  sounding  and  lan's  regiment  was 

among  the  first  to  mobilise.    They  sailed  for 
South  Africa  immediately,  and  for  two  whole 
years  Ian  was  occupied  with  dangerous  work 
on  the  veldt.     Honours  came  his  way.     He 
showed   considerable  skill  in 
handling    his    company,    and 
later  was  detailed  for  opera- 
tions    against     the     guerilla 
bands  of    Boers,    who    were 
harassing    the    flanks    of  the 
armies  and  the  lines  of  com- 
^fl^^^  munication.     It   was    in 

^^^^^^  an  attempt  to  drive  out 

flBBP^  a  commando  in  a   well- 

trenched  and  protected 
Nek  up  beyond  Lady- 
smith  that  he  received  a 
wound  which,  owing  to 
lack  of  attention,  eventu- 
ally led  to  his  being  in- 
valided home,  together 
with  his  faithful  compan- 
ion and  batman.  Private 
Mannings ;  and  though 
scarcely  older  than  his 
officer,  acted  oft-times 
as  his  adviser  and  runner. 
Little  news  had 
reached  Ian  at  the  front, 
and  he  was  scarcely  pre- 
pared for  the  changed 
order  of  things  when  he 
landed  in  the  old  coun- 
try. It  was  a  very  rude 
shock  he  received  the 
night  he  arrived  at  Craig 
Dhu  to  pay  his  compli- 
i  beautitul  woman  meuts    to    old    Colonel 

to  his  host."  Pritchard. 

*  *  *     * 

Nina,  the  adventuress,  had  passed  out  of 
Ian  Pritchard's  life  after  the  night  of  the 
incident  at  the  "  Inverness  Arms."  He  had 
been  simply  infatuated  with  her  for  a  time. 
When  the  call  to  arms  came  he  promptly 
forgot  all  about  her,  his  thoughts  being 
turned  into  other  and  more  serious  channels. 
If  he  thought  of  her  at  all  amongst  the 
flood  of  recollections  the  sight  of  his  native 
countryside  brought  back,  it  was  certainly 
not  in  anticipation  of  meeting  her  again, 
and  in  particular  not  in  the  position  he  was 
soon  to  find  she  had  assumed — a  position 
fraught  with  trouble  for  him. 

Colonel  Pritchard  had  drawn  closer  with- 
in himself  since  he  had  last  seen  his  nephew. 
Craig  Dhu  had  become  his  only  home.     He 




did  not  leave  it  often,  and  when  he  did  it 
was  to  fly  back  at  the  earliest  moment.  He 
made  Craig  Dhu — the  gloomy,  old  ancestral 
dwelling  place,  perched  half  way  up  the  rocks 
on  the  west  coast — his  world,  and  finally 
decided  it  was  time  for  him  to  have  someone 
there  to  attend  to  his  immediate  comfort. 
The  servants  and  retainers  were  sterling  old 
busybodies,  and  firmly  attached  to  him,  but 
there  was  not,  could  not  be,  the  slightest 
form  or  shape  of  companionship.  He  must 
have  a  housekeeper^ — some  younger,  better 
educated  person,  who  would  control  the 
household  affairs,  and  to  whom  he  could 
talk  about  the  house  when  he  felt  disposed 
for  a  word  or  two  of  chit-chat. 

So  he  advertised  for  a  housekeeper,  and 
in  answer  came  a  charming  and  apparently 
accomplished  young  woman  of  nearly  thirty, 
perhaps  more ;  still  she  did  not  reveal  to  the 
casual  observer  any  real  idea  of  her  years. 

It  was  Kina  !  Nina,  the  adventuress,  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  outbreak  between 
Ian  and  his  uncle.  Fortunately,  or  unfor- 
tunately, the  colonel  did  not  recognise  her. 
He  had  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  her  at  the 
Inverness  Arms,"  and 
had  not  seen  her 
before  or  since.  -^       ^ 

And  so  Nina  be-  ^ 

came  part  and  parcel 
of  the  household  at 
Craig    Dhu.        She 
ingratiated     herself 
with  the  colon- 
el.      She    was 
lively  or  gay  as 
the  mood  suit- 
ed him.      She 
chatted  intelli- 
gently, and  she 
never  failed  in 
her    duties    as 
far  as  attention 
to    him    was 
coiice  rn  ed . 
The  course  of 
time  made  her 
almost      indis- 
pensable,    and 
shortly  she   so 
wound  her  way 
into   his  affec- 
tion thaS  he  made   a  proposal  of  marriage 
to  her.     He  had  no   idea   of   her   dubious 
past — never  a  breath    of  suspicion  reached 

"  Take  that  portmanteau  to  your  master's  room 

him  up  in  his  eerie  retreat — he  thought 
of  her  as  a  reasonable,  intelligent  woman, 
who  would  be  a  charming  and  faithful 
companion  in  his  advancing  years. 

When  Ian  arrived  Nina  was  duly  installed 
as  mistress  of  Craig  Dhu. 

Mannings  preceded  his  master  to  the 
house  with  the  luggage.  He  knew  Nina, 
and  absolutely  let  the  portmanteau  slip  from 
his  grip  on  to  the  floor  in  sudden  shock 
when  he  met  her  in  the  hall. 

"You  here?"  he  gasped.  "What's  the 
game?"  Little  respect  had  Mannings  for 
the  adventuress.  '  Mr.  Ian  will  be  pleased, 
I'm  sure,"  he  continued.  "  I  should  skip,  if 
I  were  you,  before  he  claps  eyes  on  you,  or 
there'll  be  squalls." 

To  say  Nina  was  taken  aback  would  be 
hardly  correct.  Manning's  sudden  appearance 
gave  her  a  slight  shock  for  the  moment.  But 
she  had  been  prepared  and  was  ready  for 
the  meeting. 

"  You     forget    yourself. 

Please  keep  yourself  in  your 

JjjSfftllllk         place,"       she        remarked, 

'^^'^^T         haughtily,  "and  remember 

I  am  mistress  in  this  house, 

and    expect   proper 

deference.    Pick  up 

that      portmanteau 

and  take  it  to  your 

master's  room. 

One     of    the 

maids  will 

point  it  out  to 


This  was  a 
staggerer  for 
Mannings,  and 
half- dazed  he 
indeed  up  the 
fallen  portman- 
teau and  did 
as  he  was  bid. 
However,  he 
was  (|uick  in 
grasping  the 
situation,  and 
pulling  himself 
together  hur- 
ried to  tell  his 
young  master 
of  what  he  had 
discovered . 
"But  what  can  she  be  doing  there?" 
lueried  Ian,  amazed,  when  he  was  told. 
Seems  to  have  the  old  man  well  in  tow, 


sir,  by  her  attitude,"  replied  the  batman. 

"  Mannings,  you  forget  that  '  the  old 
man  '  is  my  uncle.  Please  speak  a  little  more 
respectfully.  I've  noticed  you're  getting  a 
little  too  free  of  speech  of  late." 

Beg  pardon,  sir.  Didn't  mean  to  be 
disrespectful;  only  the  shock  of  seeing  her 
quite  flummoxed  me,  so  to  speak." 

"All  right.  Mannings.  I  know  you  had  no 
intention  of  disrespect,"  said  Ian  with  a 
smile.  He  liked  Mannings,  and  on  the  veldt 
they  had  been  good  fighting  comrades. 
Kemember  you  are  home  now,  my  man, 
and  that  you  have  to  put  a  curb  on  that 
tongue  of  yours." 

"Right,  sir!" 

"  Now,  what's  to  be  done  1 " 

'  Think  you'd  better  see  the  colonel,  sir, 
and  find  out  how  the  land  lies." 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  is  the  best  thing.  All 
right,  Mannings,  be  about  in  case  I  want  you." 

Colonel  Pritchard  had  forgotten  the  last 
meeting  with  his  nephew,  and  he  rushed 
forward  now  to  greet  him  with  all  the 
affection  of  a  father  finding  his  long-lost  son. 
Glad  to  see  you  back,  my  boy;  glad  to 
see  you  back  safe,"  he  cried.  "  I  watched 
your  movements,  and  you  have  done  well. 
Honourably  mentioned,  eh  !  Pleasing 
memento  of  the  campaign  ; "  this  last  point- 
ing to  lan's  arm,  which  was  still  in  the  sling. 
Hope  it's  going  on  well — nothing  serious  f 
No  nothing  serious,  uncle,"  replied  Ian 
light-heartedly.  "  It  will  be  all  right  in  a  few 
days  now,  with  proper  attention.  Couldn't 
get  attention  in  South  Africa.  Too  many  in 
the  same  plight.  Glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
well,  uncle." 

I'm  fit  as  a  fiddle,  my  lad.  But  I've 
a  surprise  for  you." 

Nina  had  just  entered  the  door,  calm  and 

My  wife.     Let  me  introduce  you,  my 

boy."     The  colonel    was    enthusiastic.     He 

was  hardly  expecting  the  drop  of  lan's  jaw. 

'  Your   wife !     You   don't  mean   to   tell 

me,  uncle,  that  this — er — lady  is No, 

you're  joking." 

It's  quite  true,  a  fact.  Why,  what's  the 
matter  with  you,  man — have  you  seen  a 

Ian  was  flabbergasted  as  Nina  came  for- 
ward with  a  supercilious  smile  on  her  face. 

Good  evening,  Mr.  Pritchard.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  you  from  the  colonel, 
and  have  anticipated  this  meeting.  I  hope 
we  shall  be  great  friends."     Nina  spoke  as 

if  she  had  never  seen  him  in  her  life  before, 
while  Ian  shrank  back  from  the  proffered 
hand,  glancing  from  her  to  his  uncle.  With 
an  effort  he  pulled  himself  together  and 
bowed.  Then  Ire  turned  to  Colonel  Pritchard. 
He  was  quite  collected  how,  though  the 
blow  had  winded  him. 

"  I  must  speak  to  you,  sir,  privately,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  so  that  Nina  hardly 
heard  the  words. 

All  right,  but  let  us  have  dinner  first," 
replied  his  uncle  rather  testily,  smarting 
under  his  nephew's  discourteous  attitude  to 
his  wife. 

"No,  sir  ;  I  must  speak  to  you  at  once — 
it  is  of  the  utmost  importance." 

"Is  it  so  absolutely  necessary  now — can't 
it  wait  an  hour  ? " 

"  It  must  be  now,  this  minute,  sir." 
Well,  come  into  the  library.  You  will 
pardon  us  a  moment,  my  dear,"  turning  to 
Nina,  who  merely  tossed  her  head,  with  a 
suggestion  of  "do  your  worst,"  as  she  eyed 
Ian.  • 

The  two  men  went  into  the  library  and 
closed  the  door. 

"  Well  now,  tell  me  what  you  have  to 
say  so  urgently." 

The  colonel  spoke  first  and  in  an  un- 
conciliatory  tone. 

"  You  introduced  me  to  that  woman  as 
your  wife,  sir,"  said  Ian,  his  voice  hoarse 
with  suppressed  emotion.  "  Do  you  know 
she  is  an  adventuress  of  besmirched  reputa- 
tion in  the  south  1 " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir"?  Do  you  mean 
to  bring  such  vile  insinuations  against  my 
wife  ?  "  The  colonel  had  hardly  grasped  the 
full  significance  of  lan's  imputation. 

"  What  I  tell  you,  uncle,  is  true — if  this 
woman  is  your  wife,  you  have  been  drawn 
into  a  disgraceful  mesalliance." 

"What  is  this  you  tell  mel  I  won't 
listen  to  it.  I  will  hear  nothing — no  word — 
against  my  wife.  Do  you  hear  me,  sir? 
Keep  your  miserable  lies  to  yourself." 

■'  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,"  flung  back 
Ian,  enraged  at  his  uncle's  dourness.  '  If 
you  do  not  believe  my  words  it  is  because 
of  your  blindness  to  matters  which  concern 
your  honour." 

"  You  are  taking  too  much  on  yourself," 
shouted  the  colonel,  flaring  up.  "  If  you 
have  no  respect  for  me  and  my  household, 
you  had  better  not  come  here.  I  will  not 
hear  these  vile  imputations  in  my  house. 
Do  you  hear  me?     I  will  not  listen  to  you." 


Nina,  overcoming  the  first  shock,  fell  on  her  knees  beside  hin.. 


9 1 

J  hen  all  I  have  to  say,  sir,  is  good-day," 
responded  Ian  coolly,  as  he  turned  on  his 
heel.  I  will  remove  myself  from  your 
presence  till  you  see  fit  to  rec.ill  me.  You 
will  learn  one  day  that  I  have  said  nothing 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply,  but  left  the 
house  right  away,  after  giving  instructions 
foi-  his  things  to  be  taken  to  the  village  inn. 
*  +  + 

Colonel  Pritchard,  left  to  himself,  began  to 
think  of  the  words  he  had  heard.  He 
becan.e  suspicious,  as  a  man  jealous  of  his 
honour  and  the  honour  of  his  house  would. 

He  began  to  look  about  him,  and  made 
investigations,  with  the  result  that  infor- 
mation came  to  him  wliich  gave  strength  to 
his  nephew's  charges.  Day  by  day  the 
evidence  of  his  wife's  former  adventures 
became  stronger  and  stronger,  till  at  last  he 
was  convinced  of  her  dual  character. 

Then  it  was  that  the  awful  decision  came 
to  him.  His  house  was  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  in  Scotland — from  generation  to 
generation  had  been  handed  down  a  legacy 
of  virtue  and  honour.  What  could  he  hand 
down  in  face  of  his  foolish — to  him,  now — 
criminal  marriage?  The  thought  crushed 
him.  There  was  no  way  of  escaping  the 
penalty  of  his  folly,  no  way  out  of  the 
consequences.  Yes,  one  way  !  But  he  must 
think — it  was  too  awful. 

Colonel  Pritchard  brooded  in  this  way 
for  hours,  sitting  shut  up  in  his  library. 
The  last  idea,  the  idea  of  the  only  way  out, 
stirred  him.  He  rose  like  a  weary  worn- 
out  man  from  his  chair,  and,  unlocking  the 
door  quietly,  went  out  into  the  long  galleiy, 
looking  from  face  to  face  of  those  of  his  race 
who  had  gone  before.  Our  women  were 
women  of  virtue,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
half -crooning,  "  our  men,  men  of  honour." 

For  an  hour  or  more  he  marched  up  and 
down  the  gallery  looking  at  the  faces  as  if 
to  receive  a  message  and  inspiration  from 
them.  Then  he  came  to  an  abrupt  stop. 
It  was  the  only  way.  He  was  determined. 
Resolutely  marching  to  his  room,  he  took  a 
revolver  from  one  of  his  drawers,  and 
fondling  it  as  if  it  were  to  him  the  message 
of  salvation,  he  went  down  to  the  dining- 

The  faint  flush  of  dawn   penetrated  the 

closely  drawn  curtains.  The  colonel  opened 
the  cnsenient  as  if  to  take  a  long  farewell 
look  at  his  beloved  hills.  Then  turning  to 
the  sideboard  he  fumbled  in  a  secret  drawer 
and  brought  forth  a  small  green  bottle. 
From  a  decanter  he  pjured  out  a  glass  of 
wine,  and  counted  the  drops  as  he  held  the 
neck  of  the  little  green  bottle  over  the  glass. 
Placing  the  revolver  beside  the  wine  he 
drew  h:ck  a  mom.ent  to  contemplate.  A 
smile  of  satisfaction  over-spread  his  features 
as  he  drew  a  pad  towards  him  atid  began  to 

He  had  found  the  way  out ! 
*         +         + 

Nina  had  observed  the  gathering  suspicion 
of  her  by  the  colonel,  and  to-night,  in  dismay 
at  his  attitude,  had  withdrawn  to  her  room 
to  ponder  and  scheme.  She  coukl  not  sleep, 
in  fact  she  made  no  attempt  to  go  to  bed, 
but  sat  brooding,  fully  dressed.  Thought 
had  not  helped  her  very  much  ;  still,  she 
imagined  she  had  discovered  the  course  open 
to  her.  She  was  smiling  cunningly  to 
herself  when  the  report  of  a  pistol  startled 

What  did  that  mean?  A  guilty  fear 
gripped  her  heart  as  she  rushed  from  the 
room,  her  cheeks  blanched  with  fright. 
Instinct  led  her  to  the  dining-room.  A 
crowd  of  servants,  aroused  by  the  shot, 
followed  her. 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated  to  open  the 
door.  Something  warned  her  of  evil.  Her 
guilty  conscience  pricked.  Mustering  all 
her  courage,  she  turned  the  handle  and 
swung  the  door  open. 

The  colonel  lay  outstretched  on  the  floor, 
a  contented  smile  on  his  cold  grey  features. 
His  right  hand  grasped  the  revolver,  his  left 
held  a  scrap  of  paper. 

Nina,  overcoming  the  first  shock,  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  him.  The  paper  attracted 
her  attention,  yet  she  feared  to  read.  A 
servant  who  bent  over  her  muttered  the 
terrible  indictment: 

"  My  ancestors  were  men  of  honour  and 
women  of  virtue.  It  is  the  law  of  my  kind  ; 
there  was  no  other  way." 

The  colonel  had  joined  his  ancestors, 
atoning  even  as  he  died  for  the  smirch  on 
the  family  escutcheon. 

The  Night  Riders  of 

From  the  VITAGBAPH  Photoplay  hy  R.  S.  Holland. 
Adapted  hy  James  Coope7\ 

Richard  Coke  visits  Petersham  to  claim  the  inheritance 
which  his  uncle,  John  Coke,  has  held  in  trust  for  him. 
Petersham  is  in  an  excited  state  owing  to  the  bold 
statements  made  by  John  Burnay,  editor  of  the  local 
newspaper,  concerning  an  illicit  still,  which  he  avows  is 
being  run  in  the  neighbourhood.  John  Coke  is  a  ring- 
leader in  this  illegal  business,  consequently  he  is 
dismayed  to  see  his  nephew  becoming  so  friendly  with 
the  editor's  daughter — Emily.  One  night  Burnay 
receives  a  note,  signed  by  the  Night  Riders,  threatening 
him  with  death. 

Concluding  Instalment. 

|R.  JOHN  COKE'S  indignation 

against    the    midnight    thief 

who  had  stolen  his  nephew's 

fortune    had    not   diminished 

by  the  morning.     He  declared 

that  all  the  forces  of  the  law 

should  be  put  into  operation,  and  promised 

his   nephew   that  the  thief  would  soon  be 

discovered  and  the  fortune  restored. 

''  There's  one  thing  certain  at  any  rate," 
he  said.  "  He  can't  negotiate  the  securities. 
He'd  be  nabbed  as  soon  as  he  tried.  We'll 
put  the  police  on  his  track  at  once." 

"  It  might  be  a  good  thing,"  suggested 
Richard,  "if  we  got  Burnay  to  put  the  story 
in  the  Sentinel,'  with  a  full  description  of 
the  stolen  papers.  I  think  I'll  go  down  and 
see  him." 

Mr.  Coke  frowned.  "  Oh,"  he  said  with 
contempt,  '  nobody  cares  what's  in  the 
Sentinel.'  Everybody  knows  Burnay's  a 
crank.  Besides,  I  doubt  whether  publicity 
is  a  good  thing  in  a  case  like  this.  Puts  the 
thief  on  his  guard,  you  know.  Anyhow,  I 
wouldn't  trust  Burnay." 

But  I  don't  think  he's  a  crank,"  said 
Richard  stoutly.  "  He  impresses  me  as  a 
strong,  conscientious  and  particularly  able 
man.  I'd  rather  like  to  take  him  into  my 
confidence,  unless,  of  course,  you  forbid  me 
to  do  so." 

Mr.  Coke  laughed  shortly.  "Forbid  ! 
No,  no,  my  dear  boy,  I  only  advise.  But 
do  as  you  like.  I  only  hope  Burnay  may  be 
of  some  use  to  you,  but  I  don't  think  he 

He  laughed  again  when  Richard  had  gone 
out  of  the  house — ^laughed  to  himself,  a 
particularly  ugly  laugh. 

Richard  went  straight  to  the  office  of  the 
'  Sentinel."  Burnay's  reception  of  his  news 
rather  puzzled  the  young  man.  He  asked  a 
few  questions,  looking  keenly  at  Richai'd 
from  time  to  time.  But  he  said  nothing  in 
the  way  of  comment  or  suggestion.  Once 
or  twice  he  began  to  speak,  and  pulled  him- 
self up  short. 

"  Could  it  have  been  the  Night  Riders  1 " 
asked  Richard,  and  Burnay  nodded  thought- 

"  Not  unlikelv,"  he  said  slowly  ;  '  not  at 

"  My  uncle  is  furiously  angry  that  such 
a  thing  should  happen  at  his  house/'  the 
young  man  continued. 

"Ah,  no  doubt,"  said  Burnay  drily. 
"  He  would  be,  of  course." 

Something  in  his  tone  made  Richard  look 
curiously  at  the  editor,  but  not  another 
word  on  the  subject  could  he  get  froni 

In   the    evening  he  saw  Emily,  who  dis- 



"iWith  deft  and  tender  hands  bathed  the  child's  head 

played  much  greater  interest  in  his  story, 
and  held  her  breath  with  excitement  as 
Eichard  told  her  of  his  sudden  awakening 
and  his  stab  with  the  hunting-knife  in  the 

"  Oh  !  "  she  gasped,  "  did  you  get  him  1 " 

"No,  unfortunately;  but  I  got  some- 
thing belonging  to  him.  This  " — producing 
the  bit  of  cloth — "is  a  piece  of  his  coat- 

Eichard  had  been  again  to  the  "Sentinel  " 
office,  and  was  now  walking  along  the  road 
leading  his  horse.  He  had  laughingly 
invited  Emily  to  walk  a  little  way  with  him, 
and  the  girl,  having  glanced  at  her  father 
and  received  a  nod  and  a  whimsical  smile, 
had  consented. 

Emily  stopped,  took  the  fragment  of  cloth 
in  her  hand,  and  puckered  her  pretty  fore- 
head over  it. 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  be  of  much  use," 
she  said  at  last.  '  Lots  of  the  men  about 
here  wear  clothes  made  of  stuf!'  like  this." 

'  Well,"  returned  Richard,  '  we  can  look 
out   for  a.  man  with   a  torn   sleeve — or  a 

mended  one.  It's  the  only  clue 
I  have,  anyhow." 

"I  hojic  the  thief  will  be 
caught,"  said  Emily.  "  Was  it 
a  lot  of  money?  " 

"Oh,  pretty  fair  ;  but  it's  no 
use  worrying.  There  are  other 
good  things  besides  money  in  the 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  "lots  of 
good  things." 

This,  for  instance,"  said 
Richard,  taking  possession  of  her 
hand  and  smiling  at  her.  She 
blushed  a  little,  and  dropped 
her  eyes.  "  Oh,  money  isn't 
everything,"    he    went    on,    "  it 

can't  buy " 

But  what  it  was  that  money 
5^^  cannot  buy  Emily  did  not  hear 

until  later,  for  a  child's  scream 
close  at  hand  put  a  premature 
full  stop  to  Richard's  speech. 
Both  turned  startled  eyes  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  cry 
had  come.  A  few  yards  from 
them,  on  the  ground,  lay  a  little 
fair-haired  girl. 

Emily  was  the  first  to  reach 
her.      '  Why,"   she    cried,    "  it's 
Job  Trainer's  little  girl.     She's 
fallen   and    hurt   herself  badly. 

But  the  child  did  not  answer.  In  falling 
she  had  struck  her  forehead  on  a  stone  in 
the  road,  and  had  fainted  with  the  pain. 

"  Can  I  fetch  a  doctor  1"  asked  Eichard. 
"  Is  there  one  in  the  place  1 " 

Yes,  he  lives  at  the  other  end  of  the 
town.  Anybody  will  show  you  his  house. 
Here's  Job  Trainer  coming  now.  Tell  the 
doctor  to  come  straight  back  with  you." 

Richard  sprang  on  his  horse  and  galloped 
away,  while  Job,  full  of  anxiety  and  distress, 
carried  his  little  daughter  into  the  cottage 
adjoining  the  forge,  and  placed  her  on  a  sofa. 
Emily  procured  water  and  a  sponge,  and 
with  deft  and  tender  hands  bathed  the  child's 
forehead  while  Job  looked  on,  helpless  as 
most  men  are  under  similar  circumstances. 
Darkness  was  beginning  to  fall  when 
Richard  returned,  alone.  He  had  learned 
that  the  doctor  had  gone  over  the  hills  to 
visit  a  patient,  and  had  ridden  some  miles, 
hoping  to  meet  him  on  his  return.  In  this 
he  had  been  unsuccessful,  but  fortunately 
little   Maggie  was  already  recovering  under 



Emily's  homely  ministrations.  Beyond  a 
1»ad  headache,  the  child  seemed  but  little 
the  worse  for  her  accident,  but  Job 
Trainer  could  not  have  been  more  grateful 
to  the  young  people  if  they  had  saved  the 
life  of  his  little  daughter,  who,  since  her 
mother  died,  had  been  the  light  of  his  home. 
It  isn't  much  as  I  can  do.  Miss  Emily 
and  Mr.  Coke,"  he  said,  "  but  if  ever  I  can 
help  you  in  any  way  be  sure  and  let  me 
know.  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  what 
you've  done  for  Maggie." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Richard  heartily. 
"I've  done  nothing  at  all.  Its  Miss  Emily 
you  have  to  thank." 

She's   an   angel,'    said    Job.       "  That  s 
Avhat  she  is." 

Richard  agreed  so  cordially  that  Kmily 
l)lushed,  while  she  protested  that  there  was 
no  need  to  make  a  fuss  about  such  a  simple 

'  Well,"  said  Job,  as  they  shook  hands 
and  bade  him  good-bye,  "perhaps  my  turn  will 
come  some  dav." 

his  horse,  and  had  ridden  away  by  a  rough, 
uneven  track  into  the  hills.  If  his  nephew 
had  met  him  he  certainly  would  not  have 
recognised  his  uncle.  Mr.  Coke  was  en- 
veloped in  a  kind  of  monastic  robe  and 
hood.  This  strange  garb  was  as  black  as 
night,  and  as  Mr.  Coke  rode  along  he  looked 
a  sinister  figure  enough.  His  features  were 
entirely  hidden,  and  through  a  couple  of 
slits  in  the  enveloping  hood  his  eyes  stared 
over  his  horse's  head  into  the  darkness. 
He  rode  fast  for  he  knew  his  road. 

Here,  at  any  rate,  Avas  one  leading  citizen 
up  to  no  good,  and  presently  it  became 
evident  that  he  was  not  the  only  Petersham 
man  out  that  night  in  that  strange  garb. 
The  track  along  which  he  rode  narrowed, 
became  a  path,  with  thick  imdergrowth 
encroaching  upon  it.  There  came  a  challenge. 
Another  hooded  man  on  horseback  stepped 
out  from  the  side  of  the  path. 

Mr.  Coke  gave  the  passM'ord,  and  the 
challenger  stepped  back  into  his  hiding  place. 
Five   or  six  of  these  sentinels  were  passed 

"  Buinav  received  the  tlaeatening  note."' 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they  left  the 
cottage,  and  in  the  meantime  things  had 
been  happening  elsewhere.  Mr.  John  Coke, 
of  Petersham,  had  left  his  house  by  a  gate 
which   gave  on   to  a  lonely  road,  mounted 

before  Mr.  Coke  reached  his  journey's  end. 
He  found  himself  in  a  little  clearing,  a 
natural  amphitheatre.  Thirty  or  forty 
figures  were  there,  waiting  for  him,  all 
cloaked  and  hooded.     Some  Avere  on  horse- 



liack — horses  and  men  as  still  as  statues 
carved  in  black  marble.  Others  were  on 
foot,  holding  their  horses.  Several  of  them 
greeted  the  newcomer,  and  though  not  a 
face  was  visible,  Mr.  Coke  recognised  voices 
that  he  knew.  It  seemed  that  the  story 
of  the  Night  Riders  was  not  quite  so 
lidiculous  as  Mr.  Coke  would  have  had  his 
nephew  believe. 

These,  in  fact,  were  the  Night  Riders  of 
Petersham,  and  it  was  soon  clear  that  Mr. 
John  Coke  was  their  leader.  It  was  to  him 
they  looked  for  guidance  in  the  council 
which  now  took  place.  Many  of  them  were 
\  ery  much  perturbed  about  the  revelations 
in  the  "Sentinel:"  and  though  Mr.  Coke 
pooh-poohed  their  fears  they  demanded  that 
something  should  be  done  to  keep  the  editor 

He'll  have  the  sheriff  and  his  men  down 
on  us  if  we  don't  shut  his  mouth,"  said  one. 
Everybody's  talking  about  what  he  said  in 
that  rotten  rag  of  his  the  other  day." 

"Oh,  let  him  talk, '  said  Mr.  Coke.  "Who 
cares?  He's  got  no  evidence.  AVhy,  he 
doesn't  even  know  where  the  still  is." 

The  sheriff  will  soon  find  that  out,"  was 
the  gloomy  rejoinder:  "and  1  tell  you  I  don't 
like  it ;  it's  too  risky.  We've  got  to  put  the 
stopper  ou  him  somehow.  I'm  for  smashing 
his  damned  printing-press,  and  him  too,  if 
he  makes  trouble." 

Well, '  said  Mr.  Coke,  "if  you  want  the 
sheriff  to  interfere,  that's  as  good  a  way  as 
any.  No,  if  we  must  do  something,  let's  get 
at  him  another  way.     There's  his  daughter, 

now " 

'  That's  it ! "  cried  one  of  the  Riders. 
Let's  kidnap  her  and  let  Burnay  know  he 
can  have  her  back  when  he  promises  to  mind 
his  own  business.  That  will  teach  him  not 
to  stick  his  damned  nose  into  other  people's 

The  proposition  met  with  general  approval, 
and  three  or  four  of  the  men  were  told  off 
to  effect  the  capture.  They  had  no  settled 
plan,  but  trusted  to  luck  to  help  them  out. 
It  did,  but  not  quite  in  the  way  they  anti- 
cipated. They  hoped  to  find  Emily  at  the 
door,  throw  lier  on  one  of  the  horses  and  be 
off  and  away  before  Burnay  could  interfere. 
If  he  did  interfere — well,  he  must  take  the 
consequences.     They  were  desperate  men. 

They  rode  (juietly  up  to  Burnay's  house, 
but  though  they  waited  some  time,  no  Emily 
appeared  at  the  door.  At  last,  becoming 
impatient,  one  of  the  men  dismounted  and 

walked  towards  the  door.  Just  as  he  reached 
it,  it  opened,  and  Emily's  brother  Elmer 
came  out.  The  young  fellow  sprang  l)uck 
in  alarm  on  seeing  the  strange,  hooded 
apparition,  but  he  was  too  late.  With  a 
shout  of  '"  He'll  do  !  "  the  man  rushed  at  him. 
Another  of  the  riders  flew  to  his  assistance, 
and  before  Elmer  could  realise  what  was 
happening  he  was  seized,  a  sack  was  over 
his  head,  and  he  was  thrown  across  a  horse. 
One  of  the  desperadoes  sprang  into  the 
saddle  behind  him,  and  they  tore  away  at 
full  gallop,  the  other  Night  Riders  following 
like  the  wiud.  By  the  time  Burnay,  who 
was  in  his  office  and  heard  the  commotion, 
reached  the  street  door,  there  was  nobody 
in  sight,  and  all  he  heard  was  the  sound  of 
galloping  hoofs  in  the  darkness. 

The  Night  Riders  and  their  captive  did 
not  slacken  speed  until  they  were  well  out 
of  the  town,  and  were  nearing  the  place 
where  they  had  left  the  main  body  of  the 
Riders.  They  passed  the  sentries,  answering 
their  challenge,  and  rode  into  the  clearing. 
Then  the  man  who  had  ridden  with  Elmer 
dismounted,  pulled  the  sack  from  the  boy's 
head,  and  dragged  him  roughly  into  the 
group  of  men. 

"  Why,  it's  the  boy  ! ''  shouted  somebody, 
and  the  words  were  repeated  in  a  dis- 
appointed chorus. 

"  The  girl  wasn't  about,"  said  Elmer's 
captor  shortly,  "but  I  reckon  the  boy'll  do. 
What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him  '.  " 

Nobody  was  ready  with  an  immediate 
suggestion,  and  Elmer,  finding  himself 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  weird-looking 
figures,  stared  about  him  defiantly.  The 
man  who  had  charge  of  him  still  held 
him  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  but  his 
arms  were  free  ;  and  suddenly,  one  of  the 
Riders  pressing  close  to  peer  at  the  lad, 
Elmer  made  a  grab  and  tore  the  hood  from 
the  man's  face.  The  man  let  out  an  oath, 
and  there  was  a  shout  of  consternation  from 
the  others,  while  Elmer  cried  out  a  name  in 
triumph.  For  the  face  that  now  showed  in 
the  moonlight,  blanched  with  fear,  was  that 
of  one  of  the  best  known  men  in  Petersham. 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  presently  by 
the  voice  of  the  man  who  had  been  recog- 

'■  He's  done  for  himself,"  he  cried  furiously. 
"We  can't  let  him  go  now,  or  he'll  give  me 

There  was  a  hurried  consultation,  and  it 
was  decided   thnt   F.lmer  should  be  bound, 



"  They  waited  in  silence,  evei-y  man  ready." 

placed  on  a  raft  and  set  adrift  on  the  river 
not  far  away.  The  tide  would  take  him  in 
an  hour  or  two  to  the  rapids.  And  that, 
they  flattered  themselves,  would  be  the  last 
of  Elmer  Burnay. 

The  boy's  struggles  were  of  no  avail,  and 
there  was  nobody  to  hear  his  shouts  for  help, 
which  were  quickly  stifled  by  the  gag  thrust 
into  his  mouth.  Then  bound  and  helpless, 
he  was  dragged  through  the  undergrowth  to 
the  river  bank.  A  raft,  nothing  more  than 
two  or  three  logs  rudely  chained  together, 
lay  there  ready  to  hand.  They  threw  the 
boy  upon  it,  untied  the  rope  which  held  it 
to  the  landing  stage,  and  pushed  the  crazy 
craft  out  into  the  tideway.  Having  accom- 
plished their  evil  work,  they  disappeared 
into  the  night. 

And  then,  a  little  way  off' among  the  trees, 
a  man's  figure  appeared.  Richard  Coke, 
after  he  left  the  blacksmith's  cottage  \vith 
Emily,  had  found  the  opportunity  to  tell  her 
what  it  was  that  money  could  not  buy. 
Love,  he  told  her,  was  better  worth  having 
than  all  the  money  in  the  world.  He  would 
not  care  a  jot,  he  said,  if  he  never  recovered 
his  lost  heritage  so  long  as  Emily  loved  him 
and  would  marry  him.     The  girl's  reply  was 

the  one  he  had  hoped  for  ;  and  after  leaving 
her  at  her  father's  door,  Richard,  far  too 
happy  to  think  of  going  to  bed,  had  ridden 
over  the  hills  in  the  moonlight,  his  head  and 
heart  so  full  of  Emily  that  he  never  noticed 
how  far  he  had  ridden  or  where,  until  the 
sound  of  men's  voices  called  him  back  to 
earth.  The  voices  seemed  to  be  approaching, 
and  obeying  an  impulse  of  prudence,  Richard 
dismounted  and  led  his  horse  away  from  tlie 
path  until  he  felt  sure  he  could  not  be  seen 
by  anyone  passing  along  the  track. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long.  He  saw  a 
number  of  men  go  by,  carrying  between 
them  a  big  bundle — or  a  body  !  He  noticed 
that  the  men  were  curiously  dressed,  but 
for  the  moment  his  attention  was  concen- 
trated on  what  they  were  doing.  Hitching  his 
horse  to  a  tree,  he  followed  them  to  the 
water's  edge,  watching  from  a  safe  distance. 
As  soon  as  they  had  disappeared  he  ran  to 
the  river-side,  plunged  in,  and  swam  strongly 
towards  the  raft.  He  reached  it,  flung  one 
arm  round  the  inanimate  body  he  found 
upon  it,  and  struck  out  for  the  shore.  Only 
when  they  were  safely  landed  did  he  discover 
who  it  was  that  he  had  saved.  Releasing 
Elmer  from  his  bonds,  he  put  the  lad  in  the 



saddle,  mounted  behind  him,  and  galloped 
back  to  Petersham  at  top  speed. 

There  is  no  need  to  dwell  upon  the 
welcome  the  two  received  from  the  editor  of 
the     Sentinel "  and  his  daughter. 

They  shall  pay  dearly  for  this,"  said 
Burnay  grimly,  when  he  had  heard  Elmer's 
story.  "  I'll  publish  their  names.  I  know 
them  nearly  all ;  and  the  Night  Riders  of 
Petersham  will  find  themselves  in  gaol  before 
the  month  is  out." 

The  street  door  had  not  been  closed,  and 
suddenly  a  bit  of  paper  fluttering  there 
caught  Burnay's  eyes.  He  tore  it  down,  and 
held  it  out  to  Richard  with  an  exclamation. 
Print  another  issue  of  your  paper,"  the 
young  man  read,  "  and  we  will  burn  you  out 
of  house  and  home." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Burnay. 
+         +         * 

There  were  three  days  yet  before  the 
Sentinel"  would  be  published,  and  Burnay's 
conjecture  that  the  Night  Riders  would 
take  no  further  step  in  the  interval  proved 
correct.  They  were  waiting  to  see  if  their 
threat  had  the  desired  effect.  If,  in  the 
face  of  their  ultimatum,  Burnay  persisted 
in  bringing  out  his  paper  he  might  look  out 
for  squalls. 

Richard,  who  had  so  far  seen  no  reason  to 
distrust  his  uncle,  had  informed  him  of  his 
adventure  and  his  rescue  of  Elmer  from  the 
Night  Riders,  and  Mr.  Coke  listened  to 
the  story  with  an  agitation  not  altogether 
feigned.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  con- 
gratulate his  nephew  on  his  pluck.  When 
Richard,  however,  announced  his  intention 
to  stand  by  Burnay  if  it  came  to  a  fight 
with  the  desperadoes,  Mr.  Coke  tried  to 
dissuade  him. 

Don't  interfere,"  he  said.  "Take  my 
advice  and  let  the  man  fight  his  own  battles. 
There's  no  reason  why  you  should  get  a 
bullet  in  your  head.     It's  not  your  affair." 

But  Richard  was  firm,  and  by  the  dis- 
agreeable smile  in  which  Mr.  Coke  indulged 
in  when  the  young  man  had  left  him,  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  he  would  not  be 
overwhelmed  with  grief  even  if  his  nephew 
did  get  a  bullet  in  his  head. 

The  days  passed  quietly  enough.  Burnay 
went  about  his  work  as  calmly  as  though  no 
danger  threatened.  He  and  Elmer  saw  to 
it  that  all  the  weapons  in  the  place,  a  couple 
of  rifles  and  a  six-shooter,  were  in  thorough 
working  order,  and  they  laid  in  a  stock  of 
ammunition.     When  Richard  declared  that 

he  was  going  to  take  a  hand  in  the  fighting 
the  editor  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I'm  obliged 
to  you,  of  course,  but  it's  my  quarrel,  not 
yours.  I  don't  wish  you  to  run  into  danger 
on  my  account." 

"  Oh,  come,"  replied  Richard  with  a  laugh, 
"  I'm  one  of  the  family  now,  you  know — or 
at  any  rate  I'm  going  to  be.  Besides,  I  ad- 
mire you.  I'm  sure  you're  right,  and  I'm 
with  you,  heart  and  soul." 

"Well,  you're  a  brave  lad,"  said  Burnay, 
taking  Richard's  hand  in  a  hearty  grip  ; 
"  but  I'am  afraid  the  odds  are  against  us. 
It  will  be  you,  Elmer  and  I  against  a  crowd." 

So  it  was  settled.  Publishing  day  came, 
and  Richard,  now  openly  a  Burnay  partisan, 
himself  took  a  bundle  of  papers  into  the 
town,  and  distributed  them  in  the  square 
by  the  post  office,  which  served  the  towns- 
people as  a  gossiping  centre  and  market 
place.  He  thrilled  with  excitement  as  he 
thought  that  some  of  those  to  whom  he 
handed  the  sheets  might  themselves  belong 
to  the  Night  Riders.  When  he  saw  a  little 
group  of  well-dressed  men  talking  together 
in  angry  excitement  about  something  they 
had  discovered  in  the  paper,  he  felt  sure  of 
it.  He  guessed  that  they  were  reading 
Burnay's  editorial,  in  which  he  denounced 
in  stronger  terms  than  ever  the  law-breakers, 
who  thought  to  carry  on  their  nefarious 
business  with  impunity.  He  told  the  story 
of  Elmer's  kidnapping  and  rescue,  and 
printed  in  heavy  black  type  the  Night  Riders' 
threat  to  burn  him  out  of  house  and  home. 

"Men  of  Petersham," the  article  concluded, 
"  I  am  making  a  fight  for  the  right  against 
a  gang  of  scoundrels  who  are  amassing 
wealth  by  the  blackest  of  crimes.  They  have 
tried  to  buy  my  silence,  and  finding  that  I 
am  not  to  be  bought,  they  are  resorting  to 
violence.  They  have  tried  to  kill  my  son, 
and  now  they  threaten  to  destroy  my  liveli- 
hood. I  defy  them  !  I  shall  fight;  and  if 
the  worst  comes,  I  shall  lay  down  my  life 
in  this  cause.    Am  I  to  fight  alone  ? " 

To  say  that  the  article  created  a  sensation 
is  to  put  it  mildly.  The  little  square  fairly 
buzzed  with  excitement.  Richard,  who  had 
soon  disposed  of  his  papers,  saw  Job  Trainer 
in  the  centre  of  a  crowd  of  workmen.  The 
blacksmith  seemed  to  be  making  a  speech, 
and  it  was  evident  from  their  shouts  of 
ap})roval  that  what  he  said  was  much  to 
their  minds.  Richard  drew  nearer  and 
heard  the  end  of  Job's  speech. 



"I'm  for  Buniay,"  he  cried. 
"  He's  a  white  man  all  through,  I 
reckon.  I  ain't  goin'  to  see  him 
ruined  if  I  can  help  it.  I'm  goin'  i  o 
take  my  shot-gun  up  to  his  place  to- 
night, and  I  reckon  there's  a  lot 
mors  who'll  come  with  me.  What 
do  you  say,  mates  ] " 

Right  you  are.  Job,"  came  the 
ciy  from  a  score  of  throats. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Burnay  I  ' 
cried  somebody,  and  as  the  shout 
went  up,  Richard  pushed  through 
the  crowd  and  shook  Job  by  the 

"  That  was  tine,  Job,"  he  said. 
"  You  come  along  to  the  Sentinel ' 
office  to-night  with  all  the  men  and 
guns  you  can  get,  and,  by  jove  ! 
we'll  give  the  Night  Riders  niore 
than  they  bargain  for." 

Job  was  as  good  as  his  word, 
and  when  darkness  fell  there  was 
a  little  garrison  of  quiet  stern-faced 
men  in  the  Sentinel "  office, 
waiting  for  the  attack  which 
Burnay  felt  certain  would  be  made 
that  night.  Every  man  had  a 
weapon  of  some  kind,  Burnay 
himself  being  armed  with  a  six- 
shooter.  Emily,  pale-faced,  but  as 
cool  and  brave  as  any  of  the  men, 
was  ready  to  perform  any  service  that 
might  be  required  of  her. 

There  was  not  much  talking.  For  the 
most  part  they  waited  in  silence,  every  man 
ready.  1  he  waiting  was  so  long  that  Richard 
had  begun  to  think  there  would  be  no  attack 
that  night  at  all,  when  there  came  the 
sound  of  horses  galloping — many  horses. 
There  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  hard 
road,  and  then  a  thundering  at  the  door. 

"  Open  !  We  don't  want  to  harm  you, 
but  we  mean  to  have  the  printing-press. 
Do  you  hear,  Burnay  ? " 

"  Yes,"  shouted  Burnay,  "  I  hear." 

"  Then  open  the  door." 

"  No,"  cried  the  editor.  "  I'll  see  you 
damned  first  !  " 

A  pause.  Then  the  voice  was  heard 
again.  "  You'd  better  give  in  quietly.  We 
don't  intend  to  waste  time  talking.  If  you 
won't  open  the  door  you  must  take  the 

I  warn  you,"  said  Burnay  steadily,  "that 
we  are  armed,  and  the  first  man  who  comes 

'  He  gazed  with  honor  at  his  uncle's  ghastly  face." 

through  that  door  will  get  a  bullet  in  him." 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  space. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  smashing  of  glass,  and 
through  the  window  came  a  blazing  torch, 
followed  by  another  and  another.  But  the 
defenders  were  ready  for  this,  and  the 
torches  were  stamped  out  almost  as  soon  as 
they  reached  the  floor.  Two  rifle  shots  rang 
out.  Elmer  and  Richard  had  fired  almost 
together.  Each  hit  his  man.  The  Night 
Riders  fired  in  answer  through  the  window, 
but  none  of  the  defenders  were  touched. 

"  Open  the  door  ! "  shouted  Burnay. 
"  Let  them  have  it ! " 

Richard  rushed  to  the  door,  flung  it  open, 
and  fired  at  the  first  man  he  saw.  Job  and 
Elmer  did  the  same,  and  Burnay  banged 
away  with  his  revolver.  Taken  by  surprise, 
the  Night  Riders  fired  wildly,  and  without 
eflect.  In  another  minute  the  whole  thing 
was  over.  The  Night  Riders  fled  in  a  panic, 
leaving  three  of  their  number  lying  dead  in 
the  road. 

It    was    one   of   the   briefest   and    most 



decisi\e  battles  on  record,  and  the  victory 
of  Burnay  and  his  friends  was  complete. 

The  three  Night  Riders  were  carried  into 
the  "Sentinel "  office,  and  placed  side  by 
side.  All  of  them  were  well-known  and 
influential  citizens. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  feared 
from  the  Night  Riders,  and  the  defenders 
separated  with  mutual  congratulations. 
Richard  rode  straight  to  his  uncle's  house, 
and  reached  there  not  more  than  an  hour 
after  Mr.  Coke  himself,  though  Richard  did 
not  know  that  yet. 

Mr.  John  Coke  had  been  one  of  the 
attacking  party  at  the  Sentinel  "  office,  and 
had  galloped  off  when  the  fight  was  over,  with 
a  bullet  wound  in  his  breast.  He  reached  his 
house,  staggered  upstairs  to  his  room,  opened 
a  cupboard,  and  began  with  frantic  haste  to 
search  for  something  among  his  papers. 
But  in  the  middle  of  his  search  he  stopped 
suddenly,  groaned,  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
heart,  and  staggering  backwards  to  his  bed, 
fell  across  it  and  lay  still. 

When  Richard  entered  the  room  he  gazed 
in  horror  at  his  uncle's  ghastly  face  and 
dead,  staring  eyes.  Mr.  John  Coke,  of 
Petersham,  wore  the  livery  of  the  Night 
Riders  !  The  young  man  looked  round  the 
room,  saw  the  open  cupboard  and  the  papers 
lying  about  in  disorder.  He  saw,  too, 
the  box  which  his  uncle  had  given  him 
and  which  had  been  stolen  from  his  room.   An 

open  travelling  bag  stood  by  the  bed,  and  with 
a  sudden  inspiration  Richard  began  turning 
over  the  contents.  He  gave  an  exclamation 
as  he  pulled  out  a  coat  of  rough  homespun. 
There  was  a  hole  in  the  left  sleeve  where  a 
piece  of  cloth  had  been  torn  or  cut  out. 
The  mystery  was  solved.  His  uncle  was  the 
thief  who  had   visited  his  room  that  night. 

But  why  1  That  was  a  mystery  that  was 
not  cleared  up  for  some  days,  until  Mr.  John 
Coke's  affairs  had  been  investigated.  Then 
it  was  found  that  the  securities  in  the  box 
were  bogus,  and  that  Mr.  John  Coke  had 
converted  his  nephew's  heritage  to  his  own 
uses.  He  had,  however,  left  a  comfortable 
fortune  himself,  and  as  Richard  was  the  heir- 
at-law  he  was  not  disposed  to  complain  of 
the  way  in  which  things  had  turned  out. 

In  the  next  number  of  the  "  Sentinel " 
Burnay  announced  with  triumph  the  sup- 
pression of  the  illicit  still  and  the  arrest  of 
a  number  of  leading  citizens,  who  had  been 
prominent  members  of  the  Night  Riders' 

And  two  or  three  months  later  there  was 
another  paragraph  in  the  "  Sentinel,"  an- 
nouncing the  marriage  of  the  editor's  daughter 
to  Mr.  Richard  Coke,  nephew  of  the  late 
Mr.  John  Coke,  of  Petersham. 

Richard  and  Emily  read  the  announcement 
together,  and  agreed  that  it  was  by  a  long 
way  the  most  interesting  piece  of  news  in 
the  paper. 

[The    End. 

A/TARY  fuller,  the  particular  bright  star 
-^'-■-  of  the  Edison  Company's  constellation, 
says  she  is  not  going  to  marry  a  member 
of  the  company — or  anyone  else,  in  fact,  at 

THE  Mutual  Film  Corporation  of  New  York 
recently  received  a  letter  from  a  picture 
enthusiast,  who  has  evidently   seen  some 
of  the  Keystone  motor  sensations  and  appears  to 
think   that  the  present  staff  is  about  used  up. 
He  writes  : — 

"I  have  a  man  that  I  think  can  lie  down 

and  let  an  automobile  weighing  a  ton-and-a- 

half  run  over  his  stomach,  that   is  the  two 

wheels  on  the  one  side.     If  you  can  use  him, 

or  would  like  to  give  him  a  try-out,  please 

state  your  price,  also  when  you  want   him." 

The  writer  evidently   realises  that  kinemato- 

graph  enterju'ise  has  few  limits,  but  it  is  evident 

he  has  never  learned  of  the  harmless  necessary 


CHARLES  M.  SEAY,  the  Edison  Director, 
refuses  to  have  spectators  interfere  with 
his  exterior  scenes  any  longer.  He  worked 
a  novel  idea  the  other  day.  With  a  group  of 
people  watching  and  striving  to  get  into  the 
picture,  Seay  rigged  up  a  dummy  camera  and 
had  characters  not  in  the  cast  perform,  while  the 
real  scene,  with  Barry  O'Moore  as  "Octavius," 
was  being  enacted  only  a  few  feet  distant. 

THE  Theatre  of  Science,"  by  Robert 
(Iran,  which  has  just  been  published  in 
the  States,  is  claimed  to  be  the  first 
history  u[)-to-date  of  the  motion-picture  industry. 
Mr.  (Iran  has  dedicated  his  work  to  D.  W. 
(4ritfith,  the  famous  £500-a-we.ek  director  of 
Reliance  and  Majestic  films,  in  appreciation  of 
his  contribution  to  the  development  of  the 
|)hotoplay  and  the  significance  of  his  labours 
for  the  new  art. 


The    Mystery 
Room  643. 

The  second  ((dventuir  of  Richard  Neal,  private  investigator 

of  crime. 

Adapted  froDi  the  ESSANAY  Film  by  Jach  Duncan. 

Valuable  papers,  placed  in  the  safe  overnight,  are  gone 
in  the  morning.  The  mystery  is  solved  and  a  love 
affair  shattered,  Neal  regrets  his  success,  in  his  regard 
for   the   girl   who    discovered   her  affianced   husband 

a  thief. 

T  was  some  time  after  my 
fortunate  rescue  of  Judith 
Hamilton,  which  occurred  over 
the  discovery  of  the  priceless 
scarab,  that  I  met  Milton 

I  had  dropped  in  for  a  chat  and  a  smoke 
with  Hamilton  one  evening,  with  the  hope 
of  again  meeting  Judith.  After  gossiping 
to  my  friend  for  some  time,  the  door  opened, 
and  I  was  pleased  to  see  her  enter.  My 
pleasure  gave  way  to  surprise  when  I  noticed 
that  she  was  accompanied  by  a  companion, 
and  when  the  latter  was  introduced  to  me 
by  Hamilton  as  Judith's  fiance,  my  dis- 
appointment was  bitter.  Milton  Wade  was 
his  name,  and  it  appeared  that  he  acted  as 
Hamilton's  secretary ;  consequently  during 
Judith's  many  visits  to  her  father  at  the 
office  the  young  people  had  frequently  met. 
They  were  now  engaged. 

Shortly  afterwards  I  took  my  leave,  and 
on  the  way  home  was  greatly  worried  to 
find  that  I  could  not  rid  myself  of  a  feeling 
of  distrust  towards  the  fellow  who  was  the 
acknowledged  lover  of  the  girl  to  whom  I 
had  taken  such  a  liking. 

It  was  annoying  to  think  that  I,  Richard 
Neal,  a  private  investigator  of  crime,  should 
feel  antagonistic  towards  a  man  whom  I  had 
met  but  once.  It  was  contrary  to  my 

The  next  morning  I  awoke  early  and  had 
breakfasted  and  was  dressed  by  a  quarter  to 
nine.  Glancing  through  the  morning  paper 
I  was  attracted  by  an  article  on  the  Blackburn 
case.  Blackburn  was  a  big  man  in  the  city, 
and  although  I  had  never  met  him,  I  was 

greatly  interested  in  his  case.  Criminal 
proceedings  had  recently  been  commenced 
against  him  by  a  former  partner,  and  in  the 
circumstances  the  following  article  was 
rather  startling : 


Remarkable    Scoop   by   the 

Prosecutor's  Counsel. 

We  learn  on  excellent  authority  that 

Robert    Hamilton,    the    well  -  known 

counsel,  has  become  possessed  of  several 

important  documents,  reputed  to  have 

been    written    by    Blackburn    to    an 


Smiling  to  myself  at  Hamilton's  smart 
scoop,  I  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
telephone  bell.  A  moment  later  my  man 
entered  the  room. 

'  Mr.  Hamilton  wishes  to  speak  to  you  on 
the  telephone,  sir." 

Going  to  the  'phone  I  was  startled  to 
hear  my  friend  talking  at  a  terrific  pace,  and 
in  a  most  excited  tone. 

"Steady,  old  chap,  steady.  What's  the 
trouble  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Trouble  isn't  the  word  for  it !  Have 
you  read  this  morning's  news  ?  " 

"  What — you  mean  the  Blackburn  affair  ? 
Why,  I  was  just  about  to  'phone  through 
my  congratulations,"  I  answered. 

"  Thanks  very  much,  but  the  papers  have 

"Yes,  I  had  them  here  last  night,  and 
before  leaving  the  office  I  carefully  locked 
them  in  the  safe.  As  I  was  explaining  to 
you  the  other  evening,  the  thing's  quite  new 
and  of  the  latest  pattern.     A  secret  alarm 

THE   MYSTERY   OF   ROOM    643. 


is  connected  from  the  safe  to  my  desk,  and 
the  only  way  to  open  it  is  via  the  desk.  At 
least  that's  what  the  manufacturers  said. 
Yet,  when  I  arrived  this  morning  I  did  the 
unlocking  as  usual,  and  the  papers  had 
disappeared.  There's  no  mark  of  any  sort 
on  the  steel." 

'*  I'll  be  there  in  ten  minutes,"  I  promised. 

Slipping  on  my  hat  and  coat,  I  immediately 
started  for  Hamilton's  office. 
*  *  + 

My  friend  was  looking  very  glum  when  I 
arrived,  whilst  Wade  appeared  to  be  making 

measure  from  my  pocket  I  crossed  to  the 
safe.  The  inner  measurement  was  exactly 
two  foDt  three  inches  deep,  whilst  the  outer 
was  but  one  foot  nine.  The  offices  being  of 
the  modern  type,  with  walls  of  no  great 
thickness,  I  was  greatly  surprised  to  find 
that  exactly  six  inches  of  the  steel  was 
embedded  in  the  wall.  Immediately  an 
idea  struck  me,  and  requesting  Hamilton 
and  his  secretary  to  stay  where  they  were,  I 
left  the  office  and  walked  along  the  corridor 
to  the  next  room.  The  fact  that  the  adjoin- 
ing office  was   "  To  Let "  fell  in  with  my 

"Milton  Wade  was  his  name  and  he  acted  as  Hamilton's  secretary." 

a  great  attempt  to  seem  busy. 

After  listening  to  a  lengthy  rigmarole 
about  the  marvellous  qualities  of  his  re- 
markable safe,  I  gathered  from  Hamilton 
all  the  facts  of  the  case. 

About  six  feet  high,  three  wide  and  two 
deep,  standing  in  an  angle  of  the  wall,  the 
safe  looked  a  tough  proposition  for  any 
burglar  to  tackle. 

Although  greatly  puzzled,  my  vocation  as 
a  detective  forced  me  to  make  some  show 
of  understanding  the  situation.     Taking  a 

theory,  and  I  felt  strangely  confident  of  a 
simple  solution  to  this  seemingly  complicated 
mystery.  Opening  the  door  without  diffi- 
culty, I  entered  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  returned,  and 
requesting  Hamilton  to  place  some  papers  in 
the  safe  I  toyed  with  my  magnifying  glass, 
at  the  same  time  taking  careful  stock  of 
Wade.  The  more  I  examined  him  the  less 
I  liked  his  looks,  and  felt  confident  that  he 
knew  more  about  the  missing  papers  than  he 
chose  to  tell. 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   ROOM    643. 

Having  carried  out  my  request,  Hamilton 
carefully  locked  the  safe  and  I  again  left  the 
room,  to  return  again  almost  immediately, 
telling  my  friend  to  take  the  papers  from 
the  safe.  Imagine  his  surprise  to  find  them 
gone.  Wade  gave  me  a  half-scared  look  as 
I  crossed  to  the  desk  and  threw  thereon  the 
papers  that  had  but  a  moment  previously 
been  so  carefully  locked  in  the  safe. 

Ignoring  their  flood  of  questions,  I  told 
them  to  follow  me,  which  they  immediately 
did,  Hamilton  being  in  a  most  excited  state. 

Wade,  and  his  attempt  to  appear  surprised 
was  so  obviously  false  that  I  felt  more  con- 
vinced than  ever  that  my  surmise  was  correct. 
Although  we've  discovered  how  the 
theft  took  place,  we  have  not  yet  found  the 
papers,"  I  said. 

This  remark  troubled  Hamilton,  but  after 
a  little  further  talk  I  returned  to  my  flat, 
there  to  think  out  the  best  course  to  pursue. 
+  *  + 

Seeing  that  the  papers  could  be  of  no  use 
whatever  to  any  person  except  Hamilton  or 





« » - 


1    i 

"After  hearing  about  the  marvellous  qualities  of  his  remarkable  safe,  I  gathered    from 
Hamilton  all  the  facts  of  the  case  " 

Trespassing  once  again  into  the  adjoining 
office  I  called  them  after  me,  drawing  their 
attention  to  where  several  bricks  had  been 
removed  from  the  wall,  leaving  the  back  of 
the  safe  exposed  to  view.  A  section  of  the 
steel,  which  must  have  been  unbolted  from 
the  inside,  was  easily  shifted,  thus  laying 
bare  the  whole  of  the  upper  section  of  the 
interior  of  the  safe. 

Well  I'm  jiggered,"  gasped  Hamilton. 

Smiling  with  amusement  at  his  honest 
astoni.shment  and  indignation,  I  turned  to 

Blackburn,  I  decided  to  try  the  latter. 

Pinning  a  reporter's  badge  to  the  lapel  of 
my  coat — I  find  it  convenient  to  hold  a 
reporter's  position  to  sevei-al  newspapers— I 
started  out. 

An  interview  with  Blackburn  proved  to 
be  no  difficult  matter,  and  within  half-an- 
hour  I  was  seated  beside  his  desk  listening 
to  his  plans  regarding  the  coming  action. 
He  was  rather  a  pleasant  fellow,  and  had  I 
been  ignorant  of  his  past  record  I  should 
have  felt  a  liking  for  him. 

THE   MYSTERY    OF   EOOM    643. 


And  best  of  all,"  he  was  saying,  '  I 
believe  I  shall  get  the  papers  back  that 
Hamilton  so  cleverly  got  hold  of.  This 
morning  I  received  an  anonymous  letter," 
pointing  to  his  pocket,  "  evidently  from  the 
thief  himself.  He  wants  me  to  meet  him 
to-night  and  I'm  to  take  my  cheque-book 
with  me.  I  don't  mind  if  it  costs  me  a 
hundred  or  two.     The  papers  are  worth  it." 

He  seemed  very  pleased  at  the  turn  things 
had  taken,  but  I  was  puzzling  my  brains  as 
to  how  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  letter 
which  evidently  reposed  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  coat. 

Upon  his  inviting  me  to  smoke  an  idea 
struck  me.  After  lighting  my  cigar  I  held 
the  lighted  match  between  my  fingers,  and 
the  moment  Blackburn  turned  his  head  I 
dropped  the  vesta  into  the  side  pocket  of 
his  coat. 

A  few  seconds  later  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  my  bright 
idea.  As  Blackburn  jumped  up  with  the 
terrible  discovery  that  his  coat  was  alight,  I 
sprang  up  also,  and  between  us  we  quickly 
extinguished  the  burning  cloth. 

A'aturally  this  brought  our  interview  to  a 
sudden  end,  but  when  I  left  Blackburn  I 
was  carrying  a  letter  in  my  pocket  which  I 
hoped  to  be  the  one  I  required. 

"  You  will  notice,  Hamilton,  that  all  the 
'e's'  in  this  note  are  clogged.  It  was 
evidently  typed  on  a  machine  which  was 
badly  in  need  of  a  clean." 

The  note  under  discussion  was  that  which 
I  had  the  previous  day  extracted  from 
Blackburn's  pocket.  Fortunately  my  luck 
had  been  good,  and  I  had  appropriated  the 
correct  letter.     It  read  as  follows  : 

"  If  you  are  interested  in  the  papers 
that  disappeared  from  Hamilton's  safe, 

call  at  148, Street,  at  seven 

o'clock  to-night,  and  bring  your  cheque 
Typewritten  on  a  plain  sheet  of  notepaper, 
the   only   exceptional    character  about  the 
note  was  the  smudged  "e's." 

'  I  shall  be  at  this  meeting  place  to-night, 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  I  promise  to  bring  the 
thief  here  before  eight.  Of  course,  Blackburn 
has  by  this  time  missed  his  precious  note, 
but  I  don't  suppose  for  a  moment  he  suspects 
that  anyone  has  taken  it.  He  is  probably 
under  the  impression  that  he  has  laid 
it  down  in  a  place  of  safety  and  forgotten 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  have 
some  help  at  hand,  in  case  of  accident  1 " 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Judith  burst  into  the  room.  I 
was  so  pleased  to  see  her  that  perhaps  I 
turned  rather  abruptly  from  her  father. 
Judith  evidently  caught  her  father's  im- 
patient look,  and  after  a  few  words  of 
greeting  she  crossed  to  where  the  typewriter 
stood,  and  inserting  a  sheet  of  paper  started 
playfully  to  tap  the  keys. 

Blushing  furiously  she  handed  us  the 
result  of  her  efforts  and  fled.  The  paper 
bore  but  one  sentence,  "I  love  Milton  Wade 
with  all  my  heart." 

Hamilton  laughed  outright,  but  I  had 
noticed  something  that  stopped  the  laughter 
on  my  lips.  The  "e's"  of  the  sentence  were 
all  smudged. 

Telling  my  friend  of  my  fears  that  the 
thief  was  his  secretary  and  Judith's  lover, 
I  drew  his  attention  to  the  smudged  e's  " 
in  the  two  notes.  He  refused  to  credit  my 
belief,  but  it  was  out  of  regard  for  his 
daughter  that  he  so  strongly  took  the  side 
of  Wade.  I  knew  that  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
he  believed  his  secretary  guilty,  and  I  felt 
deeply  sorry  for  my  friend  and  great 
sympathy  for  Judith. 

However,  having  started  on  the  case  I  was 
determined  to  go  through  with  it  to  the 
very  end,  unless  my  friend  positively  forbade 

Leaving  Hamilton  I  returned  home  and 

seven  o'clock  found  me  at  148, 

Street,  a  dingy  dwelling  with  broken  and 
dirty  steps  leading  downwards  to  a  gloomy 
doorway.  Looking  carefully  round  I  as- 
certained that  my  actions  were  unobserved, 
and  crept  cautiously  down  the  steps.  Arrived 
at  the  door,  I  stood  listening  for  a  moment, 
but  apparently  nobody  had  been  disturbed. 
After  considering  for  a  while  1  decided  to 
knock  at  the  door  and  the  moment  it  was 
opened  to  spring  in  and  chance  what  awaited 
me  on  the  other  side. 

Giving  two  sharp  raps  I  waited.  A  sound 
of  footsteps  came  from  within,  and  presently 
the  door  was  flung  wide  open  and  inside  I 
sprung.  Turning  quickly  I  had  just  time  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  brutal  face,  scowling  at 
me  from  the  doorway.  Quickly  slamming 
the  door,  the  giant  of  a  ruffian  came  at  me 
with  a  rush.  The  fight  was  terrible  for  a 
while,  and  I  was  battered  and  bruised  un- 
mercifully, but  after  a  time  condition  told, 
and  I  had  the  brute  bound  to  a  bed  which 




"  The  more  I  examined  him,  ths  less  I  liked  his  looks." 

stood  in  the  room. 

Sitting  down  to  regain  my  breath,  I 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  thief  and 
Blackburn.  Questioning  the  rogue  on  the 
bed  proved  useless,  the  only  response  to  my 
queries  being  scowls  as  black  as  night. 

My  patience  was  quickly  rewarded  how- 
ever, for  exactly  at  half -past  seven  by  my 
watch  a  tap  came  at  the  door.  Rising 
quickly  I  stepped  across  the  room,  pulling 
the  door  open  upon  me,  thus  hiding  myself 
from  the  visitor's  view. 

As  soon  as  he  had  crossed  the  threshold 
I  closed  and  locked  the  door.  Turning,  I 
was  not  surprised  at  the  face  which  en- 
countered my  gaze.  It  was  Milton  Wade. 
He  showed  some  fight  at  first,  but  I  quickly 
cowed  him.  After  all,  he  was  not  very  big, 
and  his  appearance  suggested  the  poor  fool 
with  no  will  of  his  own. 

"  You  miserable  cur,"  I  cried,  thinking  of 
poor  Judith  and  the  agony  she  would  suffer 
made  iny  blood  boil  with  anger  towards 
this  fool  of  a  creature  who  had  stolen 
from  the  man'  who  had  fed  and  clothed  him. 

You  rotten  beggar !  Even  now  I've 
half  a  mind  to  give  you  the  biggest  hiding 
you've  ever  had  in  your  life."  My  "  telling 
off  "  of  the  cad  was  interrupted  by  somebody 
giving  me  a  terrific  punch  in  the  back. 
Staggering  forward  I  half  fell  over  Wade, 
and  it  was  marvellous  why  my  assailant 
didn't  take  immediate  advantage  of  my 
weak  position  Regaining  my  feet  I  turned 
to  see  Blackburn  in  a  threatening  position, 
and  the  ruffian  on  the  bed  had  loosened  his 
ropes  and  was  crouched  forward  ready  to 
spring.  Wade  sat  dazed  and  dismayed  at 
the  turn  things  had  taken. 

Quick  as  lightning  I  sprang  on  Blackburn, 
and  the  force  of  my  rush  carried  the  two  of 
us  across  the  room  to  where  my  blackguardly 
opponent  disappeared  over  a  waist  -  high 
barrier  into  an  adjoining  chamber.  I  re- 
covered myself  as  quickly  as  possible,  but  not 
too  soon  to  ward  off  a  blow  from  the  villain 
who  had  a  moment  before  occupied  the  bed. 
My  anger  thoroughly  aroused,  I  went  for 
him  with  a  fierceness  that  half  scared  him, 
and  soon  he  was  moaning  on  the  dirty  floor 



Even  now  I've  half  a  mind  to  give  you  the  biggest  hiding  you've  ever  had,'  I  cried." 

of  the  still  dirtier  roum. 

Without  more  ado  I  gra.sped  Wade  by  the 
wrist  and  dragged  him  up  the  steps  into  the 
street  above.     There  I  fortunately  secured 

a  taxi. 

*  *  * 

As  I  sat  alone  in  my  room  late  that  night, 
I  was  not  altogether  happy.  True,  the 
mystery  had  been  cleared  up  and  the  thief 
captured,  but  somehow  I  felt  sorry  that  I 
had  not  been  on  Judith's  side  in  the  matter. 
When  I  arrived  at  her  father's  office 
earlier  in  the  evening,  she  and  Hamilton 
were  there.     It  was  some  time  before  the 

girl  could  grasp  the  fact  that  her  lover  had 
stolen  the  papers,  and  when  eventually  she 
did  so  her  grief  was  intense.  Hamilton 
looked  at  me  with  a  dismayed  face  and 
I  turned  away.  What  could  be  done  ? 
It  would  have  broken  the  dear  girl's  heart 
to  see  that  miserable  creature,  Wade, 
arrested,  consequently  he  had  gone  free.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  look  Judith  gave  me 
as  she  shook  hands  and  wished  me  good- 
night, and  I  wonder  now,  as  I  rise  to  go  to 
my  bed,  whether  she  will  ever  again  think 
well  of  me.  My  thoughts  bring  sighs  to  my 

P^RANCIS  FORD,  who  has  now  completed  the 
-••  "  Lucille  Love  Series,"  in  which  he  plays 
Hugo  Loubeque,  the  international  spy,  has  de- 
cided to  take  a  month's  holiday  in  Portland, 
Maine,  where  he  will  visit  his  family.  Judging 
from  some  of  the  fight  scenes  in  the  picture  he 
will  need  the  vacation.  But  not  as  much,  by  the 
way,  as  will  Ernest  Shields,  the  butler,  who 
deserves  a  gold  medal  for  the  way  in  which  he 
was  thrown  ai'ound  bj'  Ford. 

SPIRIT  gum  is  an  adhesive  used  by  actors  in 
donning  false  beards,  moustaches,  etc. 
Recently  Tom  Moore,  Kalem's  popular  leading 
man,  found  that  he  had  run  out  of  the  liquid. 
Calling  one  of  the  numerous  small  boys  who  hang 
about  the  Kalem  studios  in  Jacksonville,  Fla. , 
he  gave  him  a  coin  and  ordered  him  to  purchase 
some  spirit  gum.  Three  minutes  later  the  lad 
returned  breathless  and  perspiring,  but  triumph- 
antlj^  clutching  three  fvackages  of  Spearmint  gum  1 



Adapted  from  the  FLYING  A  Film  hy  James  Cooper, 

Richard  Dameron  was  wont  to  idealiseTmarriage. 
That  summer  in  his  forest  fastness  he  wrote  the 
poetic  drama,  "  Jim."  When  he  had  finished  it  he  was 
convinced  that  this  heart  struggle  between  a  man 
and  a  woman  was  no  mere  fiction  of  his  imagination. 
There  was  a  real  "  Jim  "  somewhere,  he  felt,  and  a 
"Beatrice"  in  flesh  and  blood.    More,  they  needed  him. 

lAMES  BRANDON  was  a 
wealthy  man.  He  had  a  fine 
house,  and  great  possessions, 
and  the  most  beautiful  and 
the  most  precious  of  all  his 
possessions  was  his  wife. 
It  was  business  that  made  James  Brandon 
wealthy.  He  had  one  of  the  finest  brains 
in  ^commerce,  and  enormous  energy.  The 
fascination  of  running  a  prosperous  and 
increasing  business  grew  upon  him  to  such 
an  extent  that  he  began  to  grudge  the  hours 
he  spent  away  from  it — in  his  home  or  in 
society.  Yet  he  loved  his  wife.  If  ever  his 
conscience  pricked  him  for  any  neglect  of 
her  he  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection 
that  he  was  making  money  for  her.  He 
had  not  learned — then,  that  money,  even 
much  money,  cannot  make  a  woman  happy. 
James  Brandon  had  a  friend,  whom  he 
trusted  with  his  whole  heart.  They  had 
been  chums  in  boyhood  and  at  college  in- 
separable, Brandon  had  no  secrets  from 
Arthur  Lawson,  and  he  believed  that  he 
knew  his  friend's  whole  heart.  He  was 
mistaken.  Arthur  Lawson  had  a  secret 
which  he  hid  jealously  and  in  fear.  He 
loved  Beatrice  Brandon,  his  friend's  wife. 

Lawson  was  a  man  of  leisure,  good-looking, 
clever  in  a  way,  popular  in  the  society  in 
which  he  moved,  but  more  of  a  favourite 
with  women  than  with  men. 

Beatrice  Brandon  loved  her  husband.  It 
is  important  that  this  fact  should  be  stated 
definitely,  for  things  were  to  happen 
which  might  have  led,  and  did  lead,  James 
Brandon  to  another  conclusion.  Beatrice 
Brandon,  then,  loved  her  husband,  and, 
whatever  caused  her  to  act  in  the  way  she 
did  act  was  not  to  be  explained  by  the  death 
of  her  love  for  him.  It  did  not  die.  She 
was  perhaps  piqued,  a  little  hurt,  fancyitig 
herself  neglected,  half-believing,  it  may  be 

conjectured,  that  her  husband's,  love  for  her 
was  failing.  She  was  foolish,  and  her 
foolishness  led  to  tragedy. 

Lawson  had  the  freedom  of  the  Brandon's 
house.  He  was  the  friend  of  the  wife  as 
well  as  of  the  husband,  and  Brandon  was 
glad  to  think  that  while  he  was  engrossed  in 
business  at  his  office  his  wife  had  so  pleasant 
and  entertaining  a  companion. 

For  a  long  time  Lawson  hid  his  secret, 
and  then  one  evening,  when  he  and  Mrs. 
Brandon  were  sitting  in  the  conservatory,  he 
spoke.  He  had  dropped  in  to  spend  an  hour 
or  two,  as  he  often  did.  He  found  Mrs. 
Brandon  alone,  and  after  chatting  in  the 
drawing-room  they  had  gone  into  the  con- 
servatory, where  it  was  cool  and  pleasant, 
and  where  Lawson  might  smoke  if  he  desired 
to  do  so. 

Somehow,  though  they  were  such  good 
friends,  conversation  that  night  did  not  seem 
to  be  easy.  There  were  long  silences,  and 
Lawson  could  see  that  Mrs.  Brandon's 
thoughts  were  straying.  Sometimes  she 
seemed  to  forget  him  altogether,  and  there 
was  a  look  of  sadness  in  her  eyes  which 
moved  him  strangely. 

"  Jim  is  late,"  he  said,  after  neither  had 
spoken  for  some  time. 

Mrs.  Brandon  shrugged  her  shoulders 
which  gleamed  white  and  beautiful  above 
her  evening  gown. 

He  always  is,"  she  said,  shortly;  and 
then,  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh,  she  added, 
"He  might  as  well  be  married  to  the 

'  Too  bad,"  murmured  Lawson.  "  I  don't 
see  why  he  can't  slacken  off  a  bit.  He's 
made  enough  money,  surely.  Shall  I — 
speak  to  him  V 

"  Oh,  no  ;  pray  don't.  It  doesn't  matter. 
I'm  only  his  wife."     Her  tone  was  bitter. 

Lawson  rose  from  his  chair  and  took  a 



step  towards  her.  "  Only  his  wife  ! "  he 
repeated  in  a  low  voice.  "Only  his  wife, 
and  he  leaves  you  to  mope  here  alone  while 
he  plans  and  plans  and  works  and  works  to 
make  money.     Why,  good  God  !   if  I " 

"  Lost  in  a  reverie,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  Muses  appeared  to  him." 

Mrs.  Brandon  looked  up  at  him,  startled. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  went  on 
more  calmly. 

If  I  had  a  wife  like  you  I'd  let  the 
business  go  hang  !  I'd  show  you  what  love 
is — teach  you  how  a  woman  should  be  loved. 

I'd  give  up  everything  for  you — everything !  " 

She  ought  to  have  stopped  him,  ordered 
him  from  the  house  on  the  instant;  but  she 
did  not.  The  passion  vibrating  in  his  voice 
attracted  and  repelled  her  at  the  same  time. 
Oh,  can't  you  see?"  he  went  on.  "Don't 
you  know  I  love  you  better  than  life — 
friendship  —  honour — yes,  better  than 
honour  1  I've  fought  against  it,  but  it  is  no 
use.  I  can't  help  it — I  love  you — love  you — 
love  you  ! " 

She  was  on  her  feet  now,  facing  him  with 
heaving  bosom  and  a  look  in  her  eyes  that 
for  a  moment  gave  him  hope.  Then  she 
turned  from  him,  putting  out  a  hand  as 
though  to  keep  him  back. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  with  sudden  energy. 
"  I  can't — I  won't  listen  to  you.  It's  wrong 
— wicked."  And  she  went  quickly  out  of 
the  conservatory. 

But  her  hesitation  had  encouraged  him. 
After  a  minute  or  two  he  followed  her. 
She  had  thrown  herself  on  a  settee  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  by 
her  side,  had  taken  her  hand,  and  was 
pouring  out  a  torrent  of  impassioned  words. 
She  seemed  as  one  fascinated,  mesmerised. 
Just  then  she  could  not  have  repulsed  him. 

"  Beatrice,"  he  murmured,  '  Beatrice — 
my  darling."  His  arm  stole  across  her 

Her  face  had  been  averted  from  him,  but 
now  she  turned  slowly,  very  slowly. 
Suddenly  she  screamed  out.  There,  on  the 
hearth-rug,  not  six  feet  from  her,  stood  her 
husband,  white-faced  and  grim,  his  eyes  as 
hard  as  steel  and  as  pitiless. 

Brandon  had  driven  home  in  his  car,  and 
was  about  to  take  off  his  overcoat  in  the 
hall  when,  through  the  open  door  of  the 
drawing-room,  he  saw  his  wife  and  his  friend. 
He  had  entered  the  room  silently  and  waited. 

Even  when  his  wife  screamed  he  spoke  no 
word.  Lawson  rose  from  the  settee,  and  to 
do  him  justice  faced  Brandon  coolly  enough. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  was  as  well  you 
should  know.     What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

Brandon  looked  at  his  wife  and  back  again 
at  Lawson.     Then  he  said  quite  calmly  : 

''  I'm  going  to  kill  you." 

Lawson  stared,  and  tried  to  laugh.  "Oh, 
come,  that's  ridiculous." 

Brandon  went  to  a  cabinet  which  stood 
against  the  wall,  opened  a  drawer,  took  out 
a  case  and  opened  it,  disclosing  a  pair  of 

"  We'll    go   into   the   garden,"    he    said. 


"  JIM." 

"  I  shall  count  three 
and  we  will  fire  to- 
gether. And  I  shall 
kill  you.  You  may 
kill  me,  too — I  rather 
hope  you  will." 

Lawson  realised 
that  Brandon  was  in 
earnest,  but  he  made 
an  attempt  to  gain 

But  there  should 
be  seconds- witnesses 
Besides,  a  duel  in 
the  twentieth 
century  —  it's 
preposterous  !  " 

'Choose  your 
weapon,"  was  the 
grim  ans  wer,  a  s 
Brandon  held  out 
the  case.  Lawson, 
with  a  shrug  of 
the    nearest  revolver. 



\\  WI^M 



83" "    ~^ 


p^"'""'"""  -' -  ^^.^HJH^^^^^^^II 







"  The  publJshei'  picked  up  the  manuscript 

ill  a  bored  fashion." 

his  shoulders,  took 
Brandon  took  the 
other,  and  held  open  the  door  which  gave 
on  to  the  garden.  Lawson,  with  the  perspir- 
ation breaking  out  on  his  white  face,  passed 

As  Brandon  was  about  to  follow,  ignoring 
the  woman  who  stood  watching  him  in  an 
agony  of  terror,  she  ran  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Jim,"  she  cried,  "don't  go — oh, don't 
go — oh,  don't  go  !  " 

He  turned  upon  her  sternly.  "  You  wish 
him  to  go  free,  unpunished.  I  tell  you  he 
shall  die  to-night." 

"  Jim,"  she  cried  again,  "  it's  for  you  I 
fear,  not  for  him.     Oh,  my  dear ." 

But  he  had  gone,  and  she  dragged  herself 
to  a  seat,  hopeless,  utterly  miserable,  wait- 
ing for  the  sound  she  dreaded  to  hear. 
Presently  it  came,  two  sharp  cracks,  almost 
together.  Her  heart  stood  still  with  horror. 
Was  it  Jim — or  Lawson — or  both  1  Unable 
to  move,  she  sat  there,  waiting. 

It  seemed  hours  afterwards  when  the 
garden  door  opened,  and  her  husband  came 
in  and  stood  before  her,  stern  and  relentless 
as  Fate.  She  got  to  her  feet  somehow,  and 
tottered  towards  him,  clasping  her  hand  in 
her  agitation. 

Jim,  have  you ? "     She  could  get  no 

further,  but  he  understood.     He  touched  the 
bell  before  he  answered. 

You  will  never  see  your  lover  again," 
he  said.  Then  to  the  old  manservant  who 
had  entered  the  room,   "  Peters,  pack   my 

bag,  will  you  ?  I'm  going  away  at  once." 

He  followed  the  old  man  out  of  the  room, 
and  his  wife  was  left  alone  in  her  misery. 
She  accused  herself  bitterly.  She  had  been 
mad — .\icked,  but  she  had  not  meant  it. 
A  little  mild  flirtation,  perhaps,  just  to 
teach  Jim  a  lesson,  to  let  him  see  that  other 
men  appreciated  his  wife  if  he  did  not.  It 
would  have  gone  no  further  than  that,  and 
now — there  had  come  this  awful  tragedy, 
and  her  happiness  was  for  ever  destroyed. 
Surely,  though,  Jim  would  listen  to  her  ;  he 
would  not  go  without  giving  her  a  chance  to 
explain.  Her  thoughts  took  another  turn. 
What  had  happened  out  there  in  the  garden  1 
Fearfully  she  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  gazed  out.  All  was  still  and  peaceful 
in  the  moonlight.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  a  man  could  have  been  killed  there. 

Jim  came  in  then.  She  ran  to  him  and 
fell  on  her  knees. 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  sobbed,  "you're  not 
going  1   You  won't  leave  me  ?  " 

But  there  was  no  yielding  in  James 
Brandon's  face,  and  soon  she  ceased  to  plead. 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  moaned.  "What 
shall  I  do?" 

-  He  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence  for 
what  seemed  a  long  time.  She  did  not  see 
his  face  soften  when  he  sail  I  at  last : 

"  Live  to  cleanse  yourself  from  this  shame, 
and  may  God  pity  you." 

Without  another  word  he  left  her.  She 
dragged  herself  to  the  table,  and  wept  there, 



with  her  head  on  her  arms  in  an  abandon- 
ment of  grief.  ^ 

+  *  * 

Richard  Dameron  was  a  poet,  with  a  heart 
as  simple  and  pure  as  that  of  a  little  child. 
He  lived  in  a  beautiful  world  entirely  of  his 
own  imagination.  There  was  no  sin  nor 
sorrow  nor  tragedy  in  that  world,  only  high 
and  noble  ideals,  kind  hearts,  good  deeds, 
and  happiness. 

Richard  1  'ameron  was  beloved  of  the 
Muses.  They  were  prodigal  of  their  gifts 
to  him,  and  at  last  one  day  it  seemed  good 
to  them  that,  as  he  was  a  mortal  living  in  a 
mortal  world,  his  eyes  should  be  opened  to 
the  re;ilities  of  life.  He  must  be  taught 
that  the  world  of  his  imagination  was  not 
the  real  world  of  men  and  women,  which  is 
so  wonderfully  and  mysteriously  woven  of 
good  and  evil,  love  and  treachery,  happiness 
and  pain. 

Dameron  was  sitting  one  summer  day  in 
the  pleasant  shade  of  a  spreading  tree  on 
the  edge  of  a  forest  clearing.  It  was  a 
favourite  haunt  of  his.  Often  he  came  there 
to  dream,  and  occasionally  to  write  his 
dreams.  As  he  sat  there,  his  head  thrown 
back,  his  eyes  half-closed,  lost  in  a  reverie, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  Muses  appeared 
to  him.  Very  real  they  seemed,  and  he  did 
not  move  or  speak,  being  afraid  that  if  he 
did  so  tlicy  would  vanish  and  he  would  see 

them  no  more.  One  after  another  they 
came  and  hovered  near  him,  some  smiling 
and  gay,  and  others  of  pensive  and  serious 

Then  for  a  space  they  disappeared,  and 
far  different  visions  appeared.  Richard 
Dameron  saw  the  interior  of  a  wooden  hut 
which  might  have  been  the  home  of  a  hunter 
or  backwoodsman.  It  was  a  poor  enough 
little  place,  and  the  scanty  furniture  was 
rough  and  home-made.  A  big  bearded  man 
in  shirt-sleeves  leaned  against  the  tible.  He 
was  smoking,  and  gazing  at  a  photograph  in 
his  hand.  His  face  was  very  sad.  He 
looked  like  a  man  who  had  known  sorrow. 

There  came  a  second  vision.  Dameron 
saw  a  splendid  house,  with  a  porch  covered 
with  lovely  flowers.  The  house  was  set  in 
a  beautiful  garden.  As  Dameron  gazed  he 
seemed  to  see  inside  the  house.  At  a  table 
there  a  woman  was  sitting,  and  her  eyes 
seemed  to  hold  all  the  sorrow  of  the  world. 

Then  this  vision  faded  like  the  others,  and 
Dameron  raised  himself,  feeling  like  a  man 
to  whom  a  mystery  had  been  revealed. 
What  could  it  mean  1  He  did  not  know,  l)ut 
he  felt  an  irresistible  impulse  to  write. 
Already  the  story  was  taking  shape  in  his 
mind.  He  found  his  pencil  and  a  pad  of 
paper,  and  began  to  scribble  with  feverish 
haste.  It  seemed  to  him  that  some  power 
greater  than  his  own  was  making  the  pencil 

"  Beatrice  Brandon  read  the  poem  to  the  end." 



"A  woman  was  jjointing  and  talking  excitedly  to  the  chauffeur. 

fly  over  the  paper.  Never  had  the  words 
come  so  easily.  This  was  the  simple  story 
he  set  down: 

If  you  go  to  the  lake 
An'  you  follow  the  road 
As  it  turns  to  the  west 

Of  the  mill, 
Till  you  come  to  a  stake 
A  surveyor  has  throwed 
Like  a  knife  in  the  breast 

Of  the  hill. 

An'  you  follow  the  track 
Till  you  come  to  a  blaze, 
By  the  side  of  the  same 

In  a  limb  ; 
You  will  light  on  the  shack. 
In  the  timber  a  ways. 
Of  a  party  whose  name 

It  is  Jim. 

I  have  half  an  idee 

Thet,  if  back  you  could  turn 

To  the  start  of  the  trail 

Fer  a  spell, 
Thet  a  woman  you'd  see, 
Thet  a  lot  you  would  learn, 
Thet  the  regaler  tale 

It  would  tell : 

Of  a  feller  too  fond, 
Of  a  woman  too  weak, 
Of  another  who  came 

To  a  door 

Then  an  endless  beyond — 
Lijjs  thet  never  must  speak, 
An'  a  man  but  a  name 


If  you  go  to  the  town. 
An'  you  follow  the  street, 
Bj'  the  glitter  an'  glow 

Of  the  light, 
To  a  mansion  of  brown, 
Wliere  the  music  is  sweet. 
An'  the  lute  whis{)ers  low 

To  the  night  ; 

In  the  dark  of  a  room 
At  the  end  of  a  hall, 
Where  the  visions  of  gold 

Flutter  in 

There  she  sits  in  the  gloom. 
She,  the  Cause  of  it  all, 
In  the  midst  of  her  gold 

An'  her  sin. 

Never  before,  he  told  himself,  had  he 
written  anything  like  this.  He  could  not 
understand  it ;  he  seemed  somehow  to  have 
been  an  eye-witness  of  a  tragedy — he  who 
had  hitherto  lived  in  an  unreal,  ethereal 
world  of  eternal  spring. 

He  took  the  manuscript  to  a  publisher 
next  day,  and  with  considerable  difficulty 
managed  to  obtain  an  interview  with  the 
great  man  himself. 

Mr.  Bent  shook  his  head  at  first.  "I'm 
afraid  we  can't  do  any  business  with  you 
just  now,"  he  said.  "You  see,  Mr.  Dameron, 
your  last  volum.e  did  not  go  very  well,  and 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  care  to  take 
the  risk  of  publishing  any  more  poetry  yet 

"  But  this  is  really  good,"  urged  Damei  on, 
"  quite  different  from  my  usual  work.  Will 
you  read  it?     It  is  quite  short." 

The  publisher  picked  up  the  manuscript 
and  glanced  at  it  in  a  bored  fashion.  Pre- 
sently, however,  his  attention  was  rivetted, 
and  he  read  on  to  the  end. 

"This  is  good,"  he  said.  "Quite  un- 
common ;  it  is  like  a  mystery  story.  Personal 
experience,  eh  1 " 

"  No,  quite  imaginary — only  " — he  hesi- 
tated— "  only — well,  I  have  an  odd  feeling 
that  it  is  a  revelation  of  something  or  other. 
I  don't  understand  it,  and   1  can't  explain, 



but  I  simply  had  to  write  it." 

"Ah,"  said  Bent,  thoughtfully.  "Well, 
I'll  publish  it ;  it  will  make  people  talk." 

The  verses  appeared  in  due  course  in  a 
volume  with  a  number  of  other  poems. 
One  day  Dameron  found  himself  in  his 
favourite  haunt  again.  He  had  the  book 
with  him,  and  as  he  idly  scanned  the  verses 
there  came  over  him  again  that  curious 
feeling  of  tragedy.  The  directions  were  so 
definite  and  clear  —it  seemed  that  they  were 
clues  to  lead  him  to  the  discovery  of  some 
secret,  the  solution  of  some  mystery,  perhaps 
to  bring  two  sundered  hearts  together  once 

It  was  this  last  idea  that  decided  him,  and 
he  rose  with  the  determination  to  follow  the 
clues  and  see  what  came  of  it.  The  lake,  or 
at  any  rate,  a  lake,  was  not  very  far  away, 
and  he  remembered  with  quickening  excite- 
ment that  the  road  which  skirted  it  ran  to 
the  west  of  the  mill." 

A  little  beyond  the  mill,  just  off  the  road, 
plainly  visible  in  the  undergrowth — growing 
thickly  at  the  foot  of  the  rising  ground — he 
saw  the  stake,  "like  a  knife  in  the  breast 
of  the  hill."  The  simile  had  a  touch  of 

Pressing  on  by  a  rough  track  through  the 
trees  he  came  presently  to  a  big  tree,  and 
there,  sure  enough,  was  the  '  blaze  "  made 
by  some  hunter  who  had  feared  that  he 
might  lose  the  path.  On  yet  further,  and  at 
last,  there  came  into  view  the  rough  wooden 

hut  he  had  seen  in  his  vision.  On  the 
half-open  door  was  nailed  the  skin  of  some 
small  animal,  drying  in  the  sun. 

Dameron's  excitement  by  this  time  had 
become  almost  painful.  Very  quietly  he 
crept  up  to  the  door  and  entered  the  hut. 
A  man — the  man  of  his  day-dream — was 
there,  leaning  against  the  table,  gazing  at  a 
leather-framed  photograph  in  his  hand. 
Dameron  longed  to  see  the  photograph,  but 
it  was  hidden  from  him,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  reveal  himself  to  the  man.  He  stole 
quietly  out  of  the  hut. 

"I  have  found  the  man,"  he  said  to 
himself,  all  his  senses  tingling —  '  now  for 
the  woman." 

"If  you  go  to  the  town" — that  was  what 
the  poem  said.  The  town,  he  felt  quite 
certain  now,  was  the  one  in  which  he  him- 
self lived,  but  as  to  the  house- — well,  he 
must  trust  to  guidance  for  that.  He  went 
back  along  the  trail,  skirted  the  lake,  and 
entered  the  town.  He  seemed  to  be  walk- 
ing without  his  own  volition,  and  he  was  not 
in  any  way  surprised  when  presently,  turn- 
ing through  the  gate  of  a  carriage-drive,  he 
saw  the  splendid  house  and  the  flower- 
covered  porch  of  his  vision.  Perfectly  sure 
of  himself,  he  mounted  the  steps  and  entered 
the  hall.  A  door  on  the  left  stood  open, 
and  in  the  room,  gazing  with  sad  eyes  out 
into  the  garden,  stood — the  woman  ! 

Very  softly  the  poet  advanced  to  the 
table  and  placed  the  volume  of  verses  upon 

"  He^saw  the  woman  find  the  stake. 



it,  face  downwards,  and  open  at  his  own 
poem.  Then  he  stepped  back  towards  the 
entrance,  just  as  the  woman  turned  with  a 
sigh  from  the  door  which  led  to  the  garden. 

Dameron  saw  her  pick  up  the  book,  look 
at  it  in  a  puzzled  manner,  and  begin  to  read. 
Then  he  went  out. 

Beatrice  Brandon  read  the  poem  to  the 
end  with  a  wildly  beating  heart.  She  never 
doubted  that  it  was  her  own  story  she  read, 
and  that  "Jim"  was  her  husband.  When 
she  had  finished  reading  she  summoned 

Not  long  afterwards,  when  Dameron  was 
sitting  by  the  roadside  waiting,  a  car  passed 
him.  A  woman  was  standing  up  in  the 
seat,  pointing  and  talking  excitedly  to  the 

Dameron  rose  and  followed.  Keeping  at 
a  little  distance  he  saw  the  woman  find  the 
stake — the  first  clue.     She  had   the   book 

open  in  her  hand,  and  now  set  out  along  the 
track  which  led  to  the  hut.  When  at  last 
she  came  within  sight  of  it  she  stopped,  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart  as  though  trying  to 
calm  her  agitation,  and  went  on.  She  reachea 
the  door,  pushed  it  open  slowly,  and  entered. 

Was  this,  then,  the  end  ?  Dameron 
followed  her  to  the  door,  and  saw  the  man 
with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands  upon  the 

For  some  moments  the  woman  stood 
looking  at  him,  and  in  her  eyes  was  a 
wonderful  look. 


It  was  the  lightest  whisper — but  the  man 
heard.  He  raised  his  head  slowly  until  his 
eyes  met  hers. 

Jim  ! "   she  whispered  again,   and  held 
out  her  arms.     "  Husband  !  " 

Dameron  saw  the  look  of  love  and  wonder 
on  the  man's  face,  and  he  left  them  together. 

"DILLY  JACOBS,  aged  three  years,  who  plays 
•*-'  in  Sterling  Kid  comedies,  and  who  is  the 
youngest  leading  man  in  the  world,  enter- 
tained a  couple  of  hundred  motion  picture  people 
recently,  when  he  directed  a  scene  on  the  stage. 
One  of  the  stage  carpenters  made  him  a  toy 
camera,  and  merely  for  the  fun  of  it,  Billy  was 
induced  to  direct  a  scene.  He  conducted  himself 
according  to  the  best  traditions,  and  demonstrated 
that  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  mannerisms 
of  directors. 

'T^HERE  is  one  field  in  the  motion  picture 
■*■  industry  in  which  there  is  very  little 
competition,  as  Studio  Manager,  Mr.  James 
Johnson,  of  the  Blache  Company,  has  discovered. 
Recently  he  wished  to  find  a  man  to  jump  from 
the  top  of  a  six-story  building  for  "  The  Million 
Dollar  Robbery."  Four  different  times  he  had  the 
camera  all  set  up  and  grinding  away,  when  the 
prospective  dare-devils  changed  their  minds  on 
Hearing  the  edge  of  the  roof.  An  acrobat  with 
a  less  changeable  mind  was  eventually  located, 
however,  and  the  last  scene  was  completed. 
Actors,  doctors  and  lawyers  who  find  the  com- 
petition too  strong  would  do  well  to  investigate 
this  field. 

ly /TOTTON  picturedom  knows  no  sweeter  or 
■^^■^  more  charming  player  than  Miss  Alice 
Hollister,  Kalem's  famous  star.  It  never- 
theless seems  this  player's  fate  to  be  cast 
principally  in  roles  which  show  her  ils  an 
adventuress,  or,  as  Miss  Hollister  her.self  describes 
it,  as  a  "  she  fiend." 

Recently  a  visitor  to  the  Kalem  Studios    at 
Jacksonville,     who    had    frecpiently    seen    Miss 

Hollister  on  the  screen,  saw  the  Kalem  favourite 
in  flesh  and  blood  for  the  first  time.  After 
meeting  the  actress  she — for  the  visitor  was  of 
the  fair  sex— studied  Miss  Hollister  in  silence 
for  several  minutes  and  then  blurted  out : 

"Pardon  iny  curiosity,  but  I  am  anxious  to 
know  whether  you  are  as  nice  as  you  look  or  as 
mean  as  you  appear  in  the  pictures  ! " 

WHILE  staging  a  complicated  water  scene 
for  a  new  Blache  photo-drama,  entitled 
"  The  Mysterious  Bride,"  Madame  Alice  BJache 
narrowly  escaped  serious  injury  recently,  when  a 
large  glass  tank  gave  way  under  the  pressure  of 
the  water,  and  scattered  broken  glass  in  every 

The  accident  happened  in  the  Blache  studio, 
where  the  tank  had  been  built  and  carefully 
tested  for  the  making  of  a  scene,  in  which 
Kenneth  D.  Harlan  is  thrown  into  the  sea  in  a 
sack,  and  cuts  his  way  to  liberty  while  under  the 
water.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  Annette  Kellerman 
and  Director  Herbert  Brennon  had  had  a  narrow 
escape,  because  of  the  breaking  of  a  glass  tank 
last  winter,  Madame  Blache  took  every  precaution 
to  try  to  prevent  a  similar  occurrence.  But  a 
flaw  in  the  glass  must  have  weakened  it  in  a 
manner  impossible  to  detect  with  the  naked  eye, 
for  scarcely  had  the  camei-a  begun  to  grind  when 
the  side  of  the  tank  near  which  Madame  Blache  was 
standing  suddenlj'  gave  way,  and  only  the  rapidity 
with  which  she  ran  before  the  flood  of  water  and 
shower  of  broken  glass  saved  her  serious  injury. 

The  repairing  of  the  tank  was  only  a  matter  of 
a  few  hours'  work,  and  the  scene  was  finallj' 
completed  without  a  recurrence  of  the  accident. 

A  Nation's  Peril. 

Adapted  from  the  101    BISON  Film  by  Owen  Garth. 

Clifford,  Secret  Service  man,  falls  in  love  with  the 
daughter  of  a  foreign  spy.  His  rival  is  the  agent  of 
another  country.  There  is  intrigue  and  fighting  on 
board  ship,  and  the  long-drawn-out  feud  is  continued 
when  the  rival  emissaries  reach  land.  The  climax 
comes  when  a  motor-car  containing  the  spies  plunges 
over  a  cliff  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands. 

OR  reasons  which  will  be  obvious, 
my  story  must  be  in  the  form 
of  a  narrative  in  which,  through 
the  roundabout  source  of  my 
information,  lack  of  cohesion 
may  in  places  be  noticed.  It 
affects  two  states  and  a  group  of  islands  in 
the  Pacific,  which  perhaps  the  reader  will  be 
able  to  recognise  when  it  is  said  that  the 
United  States  command  most  of  the  trade, 
and  that  on  account  of  their  fortifications 
and  harbours  the  islands  have  a  great  strate- 
gical value  in  case  of  any  war  operations  in 
the  Pacific. 

I  am  not  at  liberty  to  divulge  all  the 
information  in  my  possession — many  points 
must  be  left  to  the  reader's  imagination,  yet 
sufficient  can  be  told  to  reveal  the  gravity  of 
the  situation  at  the  time  when  the  incidents 
related  here  took  place. 

It  had  come  to  the  notice  of  the  United 
States  Secret  Service  Department  that  a 
nation,  on  friendly  terms  with,  yet  harbouring 
hostile  intentions  towards  the  country,  was 
making  earnest  efforts  to  obtain  knowledge 
of  a  military  and  naval  nature  in  I'egard  to 
a  group  of  islands  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  In 
fact  it  was  surmised  that  the  T-egation  of  the 
country  in  question  had  received  instruc- 
tions to  get  plans,  etc.,  of  the  fortifications, 
and  William  Clifford  was  detailed  to  circum- 
vent any  move  in  this  direction.  Because 
of  his  intimacy  at  the  Legation  he  was  well- 
placed  for  the  task  set  him.  He  had  been  a 
regular  visitor  for  some  time  :  Marie,  the 
daughter  of  the  Ambassador,  was  the  attrac- 
tion, and  the  fact  that  this  little  lady  seemed 
to  prefer  the  attentions  of  Clifford  aroused 
deadly  jealous  hate  in  M.  Verone,  attache  at 
the  Legation,  who  had  pleaded  his  cause  and 
been  rejected.  To  make  matters  worse  Verone 
had  suspicions  and  Avatched  Clifford's  every 
move  carefully. 

There  had  been  a  ball  at  the  Legation, 
at  which  all  had  been  lightness  and  gaiety, 
but  a  few  days  later  a  message  flashed  over 
the  wires  instructing  the  Ambassador  so 
definitely  that  to-day  there  was  an  air  of 
great  earnestness  about  the  place.  A  small 
party  of  men  and  women,  secret  agents,  had 
called  and  were  closeted  with  the  Ambassador 
and  his  attache.  The  subject  of  the  meeting 
— as  became  known  afterwards — was  the 
question  of  the  islands  in  the  Pacific  and  their 
utilization.  The  plans  had  to  be  obtained  by 
hook  or  crook,  and  for  special  reasons  Verone 
was  to  lead  the  party  to  carry  out  the 

"  You  realise,"  said  the  Ambassador  to  his 
agents,  particularly  addressing  himself  to 
Verone,  '  that  there  is  a  possibility  of  the 
United  States  Secret  Service  smelling  a  rat 
and  endeavouring  to  head  you  off.  You  must, 
however,  let  nothing  hinder  you — these 
instructions  must  be  carried  out  to  the  letter, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences." 

"Clifford  is  the  only  one  to  fear,"  sneered 
Verone,   'and  I'll  deal  with  him." 

"  If  violence  is  necessary  it  must  be 
resorted  to  ;  but  I  would  suggest  you  avoid 
all  contact  with  other  agents  if  possible." 

"  That  fellow  Clifford  has  been  nosing 
round  for  some  time,"  Verone  broke  in  again, 
unable  to  control  his  jealous  hatred  ;"and  if 
I  am  not  mistaken  he  is  a  member  of  the 
Secret  Service.  If  there  is  trouble  at  all  I 
anticipate  it  from  him." 

"  Well,  if  you  suspect  Clifford,  keep  a  close 
watch  on  him,"  responded  the  Ambassador; 
"but  myself  I  have  noticed  nothing  to  arouse 
my  suspicions,"  Then  turning  to  the  party  of 
agents  he  said  :  You  have  your  instructions. 
The  ship  leaves  port  to-morrow  at  four  in  the 
afternoon.  Don't  fail,  and  good  luck  to  your 
efforts.     I  think  there  is  nothing  more  to 



talk  over  at  the  present  juncture." 

This  was  a  hint  that  the  meeting  was 
ended,  and  in  a  moment  the  Ambassador  was 
alone  with  Verone. 

"  Now,  Verone,"  he  said,  as  the  last  of 
the  company  disappeared  behind  the  door, 
"  this  is  a  chance  for  you.  You  must  let 
nothing  stand  in  the  way  of  obtaining  these 
plans,  and  it  would  be  better  to  get  out  of 
the  country  as  quietly  as  possible.  What 
are  your  plans  ? " 

"I  have  formed   no  definite  plans,  sir," 
answered   the   attache, 
except    to     make     a 
quick  dash  to  get  the 
information  before  the 
United    States    Secret 
Service    is  aware 
that    we     have 

That  is  all 
right,  but  how  do 
you  propose  to 
cover  your  move- 
ments 1 " 

"  Well,  I  think 
it  would  be  wise 
to  disguise  the 
expedition  as  a 
pleasure  trip. 
Why  not  send 
Marie  with  a 
chaperone  1  That 
would  throw  dust 
in  the  eyes  of  any 
who  had  suspic- 
ions. The  others 
of  the  party  could 
travel  separately. 
Marie,  her  chaperone, 
and  I  could  travel 

"a  good  idea.  I'll 
see  that  Marie  goes 
to-morrow.  Her  aunt 
can  go  with  her."  The  Ambassador  rubbed 
his  hands  together  with  pleasure,  while 
Verone  smiled  covertly.  This  would  mean 
that  Marie  would  be  out  of  Clifford's  way 
for  a  time,  and  perhaps  he  then  would  have 
a  chance  to  press  his  suit  again. 

But  Verone  reckoned  without  the  astute- 
ness of  Clifford  and  his  companions.  They 
had  learned  of  some  uncommon  movement 
at  the  Legation  and  were  on  the  alert. 

Before  the  boat  left  the  port  next  day 
the  agents  who  were  to  work  with  Verone 

"  She  seemed  to  prefer  the  attentions 
of  Clifford." 

had  settled  themselves  in  various  parts  of 
the  vessel,  while  Verone,  Marie,  and  her 
aunt  had  come  aboard  together.  Verone 
was  chuckling  and  offering  himself  congratu- 
lations at  the  way  he  had  hoodwinked  the 
Secret  Service,  but  his  satisfaction  changed 
to  chagrin  when,  at  the  last  moment,  Clifford 
and  a  couple  of  strangers  boarded  the  vessel. 
The  boat  sailed  out  into  the  placid  ocean, 
and  two  parties  were  hiding  from  one  another 
in  the  hope  that  their  intentions  had  not 
been  realised.  False  hopes.  That  voyage 
was  to  witness  a 
tragedy  and  an  attempt 
which  could  terminate 
in  the  death  of  the 
principal  of  one  of  the 

"IVerone  was- 
beside  himself 
with  rage  as  he 
watched  Marie 
and  Clifford  talk- 
ing happily  to- 
gether —  for,  of 
course,  they  had 
found  each  other. 
He  swore  dire 
vengeance,  and  he 
was  not  above 
carrying  his 
thoughts  into 
action.  Paul 
Verone  was  not  a 
man  to  stop  even 
at  murder  was  he 
aroused  and 
thwarted,  and 
now  his  blood  boiled 
as  he  thought  of  the 
upsetting  of  his  nicely 
laid  schemes. 

It  was  hot  in  mid- 
ocean,  the  sun  beat 
down  with  merciless  in- 
tensity, and  the  passengers  gasped  for  breath. 
An  awning  had  been  erected  on  deck  and 
beneath  it  all  the  first-class  passengers 
sheltered,  drinking,  in  their  efforts  to  keep 
cool,  pints  of  iced  lime-juice,  which  the 
stewards  were  hurrying  round.  One  man 
disdained  the  protection  of  the  awning — 
he  waited  in  the  shadow  of  the  wheel- 
house,  grasping  tightly  in  his  fingers- 
a  little  phial  of  colourless,  tasteless- 
liquid,  and  watching  Clifford,  the  Secret 
Service  man,  who  sat  alone  pondering  over 



his  plans  to  circumvent  the  spies.  Paul 
Verone  watched  him  for  an  opportunity  to 
do  him  harm. 

Presently  Clifford  called  a  steward. 

"  Hi,  man,  bring  me  a  glass  of  something 
iced,  quick,"  he  ordered. 

"  Eight,  sir — a  minute." 

Verone  took  in  every  word.  This  was, 
perhaps,  his  chance. 

The  steward  passed  him  and  disappeared 
down  below.  In  a  minute  he  reappeared 
with  a  glass  of  lime-juice  on  his  tray.  As 
he  passed  Verone  attracted  his  attention. 

Say,  steward,"  he  said,  do  you  make 
out  a  vessel  over  there  on  the  horizon  V 

Where,  sir  ? "  asked  the  man,  looking 
round  the  ocean. 

Over  there — look,"  said  Verone,  pointing 
so  that  the  man's  back  was  turned  to  him. 
All  the  while  he  was  pouring  the  contents 
of  the  phial  he  held  into  the  glass.  "  My 
eyes  are  not  too  good  ;  perhaps  I  have  made 
a  mistake,"  he  continued. 

"I  can  make  out  nothing,  sir." 
Oh,  no  doubt   I  was   mistaken.     Thank 

The  steward  passed  on  and  supplied 
Clifford  with  his  drink.  Verone  waited 
only  till  he  saw  his  shadow  raise  the  glass 
to  his  lips,  and  then  with  a  sinister  smile 
on  his  face  he  hurried  back  to  his  cabin  to 
await  events. 

When  Clifford  drank  the^  potion  so 
cunningly  administered  by  Verone  its  effects 
were  immediately  apparent.  The  victim 
became  violently  ill  and  had  to  be  carried 
down  to  his  cabin  in  a  state  of  collapse. 
But  medical  aid  on  the  spot  proved  the 
saving  of  his  life ;  and  though  there  was 
nothing  to  implicate  Verone  in  the  affair, 
Clifford's  men  set  a  sharper  watch  on  him. 
It  was  this  that  led  to  a  dastardly  outrage 
by  the  attache. 

It  was  almost  dark  before  he  left  the 
shelter  of  his  cabin,  where  he  had  sulked 
for  hours,  after  learning  that  the  poison  he 
had  put  in  Clifford's  glass  had  not  been 
effective,  and  further  that  there  was 
hope  of  a  rapid  recovery  for  the  patient. 
However,  when  the  darkness  and  the  slight 
chill  of  evening  had  driven  the  passengers 
to  the  saloon,  he  ventured  above,  and  paced 
the  deck  like  a  caged  animal  in  sheer  rage. 
If  he  knew  he  was  being  watched  he  gave  no 
sign,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  one  of  Clifford's 
most  trusted  men  was  spying  on  his  move- 

ments. Circumstances  which  followed  would 
suggest  that  Verone  was  aware  of  the  other's 
presence,  and  also  suspected  him  of  carrying 
papers  which  would  reveal  Clifford's  inten- 
tions and  plans.  The  attache's  subsequent 
action  was  strange  if  he  had  not  expected 
what  he  found. 

No  sooner  did  the  secret  service  man 
step  out  of  his  hiding  place  than  Verone 
was  on  him,  catching  him  round  the  throat 
and  half  throttling  him  before  he  could  do 
anything  to  defend  himself. 

The  ship  was  quiet,  no  one  appeared  on 
deck,  and  even  the  officers  did  not  seem  to 
notice  anything  untoward,  though  a  death- 
struggle  was  going  on  near  at  hand.  Verone 
was  more  than  a  match  for  his  opponent, 
and  eventually  managed  to  get  the  papers 
he  was  struggling  for.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  between  the  two  men.  They  wrestled 
silently,  each  exerting  his  utmost  strength, 
knowing  he  might  expect  no  mercy  from  the 
other.  Suddenly  Verone  seized  his  antagonist 
round  the  waist,  and  with  a  mighty  heave 
hurled  him  over  the  rail  into  the  dark 
waters  surging  round  the  boat.  A  slight 
splash  above  the  groaning  of  the  engines 
was  heard  as  the  body  cleaved  the  waters, 
then  nothing  more,  only  the  pitter-patter  of 
soft  shoes  on  the  deck  as  someone  came 
running  towards  the  spot. 

Verone  stood  gazing  down  at  the  place 
where  the  secret  service  man  had  dis- 
appeared, when  a  scared  voice  at  his  elbow 
asked  breathlessly  : 

"  My  God,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  1 
What  has  happened  ? " 

Verone  swung  round  as  if  he  had  been 
struck  a  blow,  being  agitated  beyond  des- 
cription. But  as  he  recognised  the  man 
beside  him  a  sickly  relieved  smile  broke  on 
his  pale  features. 

"You,  Maron !  Did  you  seel"  he 
muttered.  "  Did  you  see  the  spawn  go 
over  1 " 

"  I  saw  nothing  except  that  you  were 
unduly  agitated.  Who  has  gone  over  1 " 
said  Maron,  one  of  Verone's  men. 

"One  of  the  Secret  Service  men.  He  was 
watching  me,  so  I  threw  him  overboard  to 
the  fishes.  But  I  obtained  his  papers  first," 
Verone  responded  jerkily. 

"  Threw  him  overboard,  eh  !  Well,  good 
riddance.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
now  ?  This  affair  with  Clifford  has  created 
a  stir,  and  now  this  on  the  top  of  it  may 
cause    a   deal   of    unpleasant    investigation 



"  He  was  standing  up  in  the  forward  motor-car  gesticulating  wildly." 

and  trouble,  I  am  inclined  to  think." 

"  You're  right.  The  best  thing  I  can  do 
is  to  hide  till  the  ship  comes  to  port.  Yes, 
I  know,  you  shall  hide  me  in   your  trunk. 

They  will  imagine  both  of  us  have  gone 
overboard,  and  also  Clifford  will  be  thrown 
entirely  off  the  scent.  When  we  arrive  you 
must  take  your  trunk,  and  as   soon  as  you 



are  out  of  sight  you  will  release  me.     Do 
you  follow  ? " 

Yes,  I  have  the  idea,  but  you  must  get 
down  without  being  seen,  or  the  plan  will 
be  discovered." 

Come  then,  at  once.  We  will  put  it  into 
execution  now,  this  minute,  and  delude  the 
whole  lot.  Don't  forget  to  do  as  I  have 

This  plan  was  carried  through.  Conster- 
nation spread  throughout  the  ship  when  the 
supposed  tragedy  became  known,  but  by  the 
time  the  vessel  reached  port  the  excitement 
had  died  down,  and  it  was  generally  accepted 
that  the  two  men  had  disappeared  overboard 
in  the  dark.  If  Clifford  suspected  there  was 
any    connection  be- 


tween  the 
to  poison 
the    dis- 
ance   of 
his  right 
man,    he 
kept    his 
to  him- 
*        + 

was     a 
the  for- 
eign spies  when  the 
vessel     arrived     in 
dock ;  their  luggage, 
including  the  trunk 
in     which     Verone 
was    secreted,    was 

hustled  ashore  with  all  haste  and  dashed 
across  to  a  waiting  motor-car.  Marie  was 
forgotten  and  left  to  the  care  of  her  aunt 
and  Clifford.  The  United  States  Secret 
Service  man  had  remained  close  by  the  side 
of  the  two  women  ever  since  the  disappear- 
ance of  Verone.  But  this  does  not  insinuate 
that  he  had  forgotten,  or  was  neglecting 
his  charge.  Rather  the  reverse — he  was 
keeping  a  sharp  weather  eye  open  for  any 
sign  which  would  reveal  the  spies  and  give 
any  indication  of  their  movements. 

He  also  came  quickly  off  the  boat  after 
instructing  his  subordinates  to  keep  close  and 
never  lose  sight  of  him. 

'  The  car  plunged  over  the  canj^on  to 

The  dash  for  the  motor-car  by  the  spies 
awakened  his  suspicions,  and  he  immediately 
gave  the  signal  which  called  all  his  men  to 
his  side. 

'  Charter   the  strongest   automobile  you 

can  find,"  he  cried  to  one.    "  Hurry,  lose  no 

time,  and  also  bring  a  policeman  with  you." 

The   man    saluted   and    rushed   away  to 

return  in  a  few  minutes. 

"Jump  in,"  he  ordered,  and  turning  to 
Marie  and  her  aunt,  he  said  in  softer  tones : 
"  Wait  for  me  at  the  hotel — I  shall  be  there 
shortly.  I  cannot  explain  now,  but  will  do 
so  later." 

"  Drive  away,"  he  said  to  the  motor-man; 
"  follow  that  large  car  going  up  out  of  the 
town  over  there — 
catch    her    if    you 

1 ooked 
on    i  n  - 
— in  fact 
—  but 
ed him  of 
the  legal- 
ity of  his 
here,     officer,"     he 
said  :         that      car 
yonder  contains  the 
most  desperate  set 
of   spies    let   loose. 
They   are    here    to 
information   of    the 
must   prevent   them 

and   get 
and    we 
I  want  you  with  us  to  arrest 

make    plans 
getting  away, 

"But  your  authority  for  this,  sir?" 
queried  the  policeman. 

"This  is  my  authority,"  replied  Clifford, 
showing  a  paper  revealing  his  identity. 

"All  right  sir,  that's  sufficient." 

The  fleeing  car  had  drawn  clear  of  the 
town  and  was  momentarily  out  of  sight  of 
the  pursuers. 

"  Faster,  man ;  let  her  right  out.  You  must 
catch  that  car,"  cried  Clifford. 

In  another  moment  they  caught  sight  of 



their  quarry,  and  Clifford  took  a  good  look  at 
her  through  his  field-glasses.  A  figure  in 
the  other  car  caught  his  attention.  "  My 
God,"  he  cried,  letting  his  hands  drop,  "it's 
Verone.     How  did  he  get  here  1 " 

Verone  it  certainly  was,  and  he  was 
standing  up  in  the  forward  motor-car 
gesticulating  wildly.  The  fleers  were 
making  for  the  hills.  The  two  cars  were 
spinning  along  a  fine  strip  of  road  with  the 
slightest  incline  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains, 
and  the  second  car  seemed  to  be  gaining  ever 
so  little. 

"  Speed  her  up,  speed  her  up,"  cried 
CliflFord.  And  as  he  spoke  the  motor-car 
gave  a  jump  forward.  The  cars  began  to 
draw  a  little  together  on  the  upward  stretch. 
As  it  rose  higher,  the  road  ran  round  the 
foot  of  towering  crags,  and  along  the  edge  of 
yawning  precipices.  It  was  a  wild  and 
dangerous  ride — one  slight  swerve,  and  the 
automobile  and  its  occupants  would  be 
hurled  to  eternity.  But  there  was  no 
hesitation — both  cars  were  going  at  top  speed. 
Sometimes  the  turns  in  the  spiral  road  hid 
them  from  each  others'  view,  but  still  the 
stern  chase  was  not  abated  a  jot.  The 
pursuers  were  gaining  perceptibly.  Verone 
began  to  fear  and  drew  his  revolver  for 
emergency.  They  were  so  near  now  that  shots 
could  be  exchanged  and  general  firing  opened 
without  harm  being  done.  They  had  risen 
high  above  the  surrounding  country,  and  the 
road  had  become  a  mere  track,  bounded 
on  one  side  by  solid  rock,  while  the  other 
side  fell  straight  down  into  the  valley 
hundreds  of  feet  below. 

Not  thirty  yards  parted  the  motor-cars, 
when  a  shot  striking  the  spies'  driver 
caused  him  to  let  fall  his  hands  from  the 
steering-wheel.  Out  of  control,  the  car 
leapt  for  the  edge  of  the  canyon  and  plunged 
over  to  destruction,  carrying  all  with  it. 

The  pursuing  driver  pulled  up  as  smartly 
as  possible,  but  he  had  reached  the  spot 
where  the  fugitives  had  disappeared  before 
he  could  come  to  a  standstill.  Clifford 
jumped  out  before  the  car  was  stationary, 
and  peering  ever  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
tried  to  find  signs  of  the  unfortunate  spies. 
There  were  none — the  car  and  its  crew  had 
dived  to  complete  annihilation. 

The  Secret  Service  men  stood  for  a  moment 
contemplating  the  terrible  end  of  those  they 
had  been  sent  to  circumvent,  then  Clifford 
sharply  ordered  their  return. 

Back  to  the  station  hotel,  driver,  and 
go  carefully,"  he  said.  "  We  can  do  nothing 
— they  have  been  smashed  to  atoms." 

When  Clifford  reached  the  side  of  Marie 
he  hesitated  to  tell  her  of  the  fate  of  her 
father's  attache  and  friend,  but  the  girl  read 
the  news  in  his  face. 

"  Something  serious  has  happened,"  she 
cried  in  alarm.     "  What  is  it — tell  me  ? " 

Yes,  something  terrible  has  happened," 
answered  Clifford.  "It  is  difficult  for  me 
to  tell  you,  but  you  must  prepare  yourself  for 
the  worst.  Monsieur  Verone  is  dead,  his 
companions  also." 

Verone  dead,"  echoed  Marie,  and  his 
companions  !  Who  were  his  companions  1 
I  never  knew  he  had  any,  except  aunty  and 
myself.  But  what  do  you  mean  by  he  is 
dead?  We  thought  he  was  drowned  Avhen 
he  was  missed  from  the  boat." 

"  No,  he  was  not  drowned.  It  is  a  long 
tale,  which  perhaps  some  day,  if  you  will 
let  me,  I  shall  tell  you.  Verone  and  his 
companions  lie  dead,  smashed  to  pieces  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountains.  His  motor-oar 
fell  over  the  cliffs." 

What  will  poor  father  think  1 "  murmured 

"  He  will  be  sorry,  but  will  say  he  died 
in  the  service  of  his  country." 

Had  Verone's  expedition  been  successful 
there  is  little  doubt  that  war  would  have 
resulted  between  the  two  nations,  but  its 
failure  had  the  effect  of  damping  the  wai 
spirit  of  his  country's  government.  The 
affair  also  aroused  the  United  States  military 
and  naval  authorities,  who  took  a  keener 
interest  in  the  islands  afterwards.  That  the 
secret  of  the  fortifications  will  become 
known  to  another  power  is  scarcely  possible 
now — they  are  too  jealously  guarded. 

Clifford,  I  know,  was  complimented  on  his 
smartness  and  pluck,  but  I  cannot  tell  you 
if  he  is  married  yet.  At  any  rate,  Marie 
showed  a  distinct,  interest  in  him,  and  the 
affair  of  the  Pacific  Islands  seemed  to  be 
the  birth  of  a  pretty  romance. 

The  Voice  of  Silence. 

From  the  EDISON  Photoplay  by  Richard  R,  Ridgeley, 
Adapted  by  James  Wallis. 

Sue,  a  deaf  mute,  becomes  acquainted  with  a  wireless 
operator  at  Cliff  Island  and  learns  to  use  the  apparatus. 
Three  "  crooks  "  of  international  notoriety  overpower 
the  operator  when  trying  to  communicate  with  the 
yacht  on  which  they  plan  to  escape,  but  Sue  warns 
passing  ships.   They  are  captured  and  Sue  gets  a  reward. 

JHE  majority  of  people,  no  doubt, 
would  have  felt  that  to  have 
been  born  both  deaf  and  dumb 
would  be  an  affliction  too 
heavy  to  bear  with  any  degree 
of  equanimity,  but  judging 
from  her  merry  laughing  eyes  and  rosy 
cheeks,  Sue  Smith  apparently  did  not  share 
in  this  general  belief.  Sue  was  the  eldest 
daughter  of  her  widowed  mother,  who  eked 
out  a  precarious  livelihood  by  taking  in 
washing  and  doing  the  hundred  and  one 
odd  jobs  required  by  the  better-class  residents 
of  the  district. 

Although  Sue  had  been  deaf  and  dumb 
from  birth  she  was  her  mother's  right  hand 
in  everything,  and  also  looked  after  her  two 
impish  little  sisters,  Rosa  and  Joan.  Her 
unfortunate  infirmity  did  not  in  any  way 
prevent  her  from  being  a  remarkably  pretty 

This  little  family  lived  happily  together 
in  a  small  tumble-down  cottage  on  the  coast 
near  the  seaside  town  of  Farnhead,  and  the 
sandy  beech  in  front  of  their  home  formed 
a  splendidly  healthy  playground  for  them 
all  day  long.  Little  wonder  that  Sue  thrived 
amid  such  surroundings. 

Sue's  only  recreation  during  the  few  spare 
moments  she  snatched  from  her  duties  was 
fishing.  With  her  even  pleasure  served 
some  good  purpose,  for  the  fish  she  caught 
made  a  welcome  addition  to  the  plain  fare 
their  limited  earnings  could  afford.  Pulling 
out  in  the  leaky  old  rowing  boat  that  was 
kept  moored  in  the  creek  near  the  garden, 
she  would  sit  as  still  as  a  mouse  in  engrossed 
delight  over  her  line,  hardly  daring  to 
breathe  as  some  finny  monster  would  play- 
fully nose  the  bait  that  dangled  so  tempt- 
ingly before  it.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
watch  the  girl  as  this  playful  sport  went  on. 

Sue's  pose  was  one  of  eloquent  anticipation 
and  her  mobile  features  successfully  expressed 
expectation,  pleasure  or  regret,  as  the  desired 
captive  investigated  was  hooked  or  swam 
away  as  the  case  might  be,  and  when  hauling 
up  a  wet,  wriggling  fish,  she  made  little 
excited,  inarticulate  sounds  of  pleasure  in 
her  throat. 

One  afternoon  Sue  was  so  wrapped  up  in 
her  favourite  pastime  that  she  did  not  notice 
the  tide  wag  carrying  her  farther  and  farther 
away  from  the  shore,  until  she  pulled  up  her 
line  and  started  to  row  home  again.  Her  plight 
was  not  improved  either  when,  in  endea- 
vouring to  turn  the  boat  about,  she  lost  her 
oars.  The  poor  girl  was  now  quite  helpless 
to  save  herself.  Her  wild,  terrified  appeals 
for  help  brought  no  response,  and  as  she  stood 
up  and  gazed  around  her  eyes  could  not 
sight  another  sail  anywhere  as  they  anxiously 
swept  the  horizon.  To  add  still  further  to 
her  predicament  and  distress,  the  wind 
began  to  rise,  and  she  could  only  sit  down 
and  bail  out  the  water  that  was  coming  over 
the  sides,  trusting  to  Providence  to  keep  her 

On  and  on  swept  the  boat,  until  it  seemed 
to  Sue  as  if  she  would  be  carried  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  Atlantic.  Presently  she 
felt  the  boat  grating  upon  a  pebbly  beach, 
and  was  thrown  violently  to  the  bottom. 
Quickly  picking  herself  up,  she  clambered 
out,  and  after  pulling  her  craft  safely  out 
of  reach  of  the  angry  waves,  looked  about 
to  try  and  discover  her  whereabouts. 

Sighting  a  building  with  a  long  wire- 
stayed  erection  in  the  frojit  on  the  top  of 
the  cliffs,  the  cold  and  weary  girl  slowly 
climbed  up  the  narrow  pathway  towards  it. 
Sue  had  never  seen  a  wireless  telegraphic 
station  before,  and  in  some  doubt  as  to  the 




"Sue's  only  recreation  was  fishing." 

manner  of  reception  she  would  receive  from 
tho  owners  of  so  strange  a  building,  crept 
silently  to  an  opened  window  and  looked 

Stephen  James,  the  operator  in  charge  of 
the  big  wireless  station  on  Cliff  Island, 
sighed  contentedly  as  he  reached  out  for  his 
pipe.  He  had  just  got  through  several  very 
heavy  calls,  and  now,  thank  goodness,  he 
could  enjoy  a  quiet  smoke. 

Everything  seems  to  come  in  a  mighty 
rush  to-day,"  he  grumbled  to  himself  as  he 
looked  up  from  his  keyboard  and  then  sat 
still  petrified  with  amazement.  Visitors  to 
Cliff  Island  were  few  and  far  between,  and 
to  look  up  and  suddenly  discover  a  seeming 
apparition  of  a  girl  dumbly  gazing  at  you 
from  scarcely  three  feet  away  seemed  to 
Stephen  to  possess  some  supernatural  in- 

Quickly  collecting  his  scattered  faculties, 
Stephen    queried    with    a    pleasant   smile: 

Hello,  kiddy,  and  where  have  you  come 
from  1 " 

Sue  darted  away  upon  seeing  Stephen 
move  towards  the  window,  but  the  big- 
hearted  operator  pursued  and  caught  her  up 
at  the  gate  and  led  her  into  the  station  with 

reassuring  words  and  gentle  pats  of  en- 
couragement upon  the  shoulder. 

Seeing  her  wet  and  generally  bedraggled 
condition,  Stephen  sat  Sue  in  a  chair,  silently 
took  off  her  sodden  shoes  and  stockings  to 
dry,  and  gave  her  some  of  his  own  to  put  on 
for  the  time  being.  Then  he  set  food  and 
drink  before  his  strange  guest,  and  watched 
with  puzzled  amusement  until  the  last  crumb 
had  been  ravenously  devoured.  When 
Stephen  proceeded  to  question  Sue,  he  was 
at  first  astonished  to  receive  no  replies  to 
his  repeated  queries,  but  perceiving  from  his 
moving  lips  what  he  wanted,  and  taking 
heart  from  his  kindness.  Sue  pointed  to  her 
ears  and  mouth  and  shook  her  head. 

To  her  great  delight  Stephen  appeared  at 
once  to  understand.  "  Poor  little  beggar," 
he  exclaimed  aloud.  "Fancy  being  both 
deaf  and  dumb.  Never  mind,  youngster, 
we  shall  soon  get  to  understand  each  other." 

By  vigorously  motioning  with  her  hands. 
Sue  quickly  made  her  new  friend  understand 
that  she  had  been  carried  from  the  mainland 
out  by  the  tide  and  had  lost  her  oars,  and 
wished  to  get  back  again  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Stephen  nodded  sympathetically, 
and  busied  himself  in  making  ready  to  send 



her  safely  away.  Giving  her  her  own  shoes 
and  stockings,  which  were  now  dry,  and 
providing  a  new  pair  of  oars,  he  accompanied 
her  down  to  the  beach,  and  after  seeing  her 
safely  started  on  her  journey  home,  walked 
back  to  his  post  with  the  satisfied  feeling  of 
of  duty  well  done. 

In  the  meantime,  Sue's  long  and  unusual 
absence  had  greatly  worried  her  mother,  who 
learned  from  Kosa  and  Joan  that  she  had 
taken  the  boat  out  and  gone  fishing.  Her 
mind  filled  with  all  those  anxious  thoughts 
and  premonitions  so  typical  of  a  mother's 
nature,  Mrs.  Smith  was  on  the  point  of 
instituting  a  search  party,  when  a  shriek  of 
delight  from  her  younger  daughters 
announced  the  wanderer's  safe  return.  Sue 
fiew  into  her  mother's  outstretched  loving 
arms,  and  when  the  excitement  had  some- 
what subsided  she  dumbly  explained  to  the 
interested  family  all  the  details  of  her  won- 
derful adventure. 

The  next  day  Sue  ventured  out  again  to 
see  Stephen.  A  friendship  rapidly  sprung 
into  being  between  them,  and  Stephen 
found  himself  looking  forward  to  the  visits  of 
the  shy  little  girl  with  a  considerable  degree 
of    interest.      Even    fishing    now    lost   its 

previous  attraction  for  Sue,  and  every  minute 
she  could  spare  from  helping  her  mother 
found  her  at  Cliff  Island. 

For  some  time  a  great  drawback  to  their 
intimacy  was  the  lack  of  a  satisfactory 
medium  of  conversation  between  them,  until 
an  idea  suddenly  entered  Stephen's  head, 
and  seizing  pencil  and  paper  he  rapidly 
wrote,  "  Can  you  read  1 "  Sue  nodded  her 
head  with  a  bright  smile  and  scrawled  in 
reply,  "  Yes,  sir."  This  discovery  that  she 
could  both  read  and  write  emboldened 
Stephen  to  teach  Sue  how  to  use  the  wire- 
less apparatus.  She  proved  an  apt  pupil, 
and  in  a  very  short  time,  to  her  great  delight, 
Stephen  allowed  her  to  send  some  of  his  less 
important  messages.  Little  did  either  of 
them  think  how  useful  this  accomplishment 
was  going  to  prove  in  the  near  future,  and 
what  a  large  part  it  would  play  in  averting 
a  great  tragedy. 

*  +  * 

Some  six  months  after  Sue's  exciting 
experience  on  Cliff  Island,  Farnhead  was 
favoured  with  a  visit  from  three  strangers, 
who  landed  one  day  from  the  little  steamer 
that  was  the  only  means  of  communication 
between    Farnhead   and    the    neighbouring 

"  Sus's  mother  anxiously  ^waited  her  return." 



towns.  Probably  had  the  good  people  of 
Farnhead  any  idea  of  the  true  identity  of 
their  visitors,  they  would  not  have  received 
them  in  so  indifferent  a  manner. 

"  Big  "  Tom  Currey,  '  Slim  "  Eastman  and 
Maggie  Black  belonged  to  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  gangs  of  criminals  in  the  country. 
They  were  by  no  mean  s  j  ust  ordinary  thieves — 
they  were  really  at  the  head  of  an  un- 
scrupulous and  powerfully  organized  band, 
which  the  police  of  three  continents  were 
vainly  endeavouring  to  bring  to  justice,  and 
which  had  tremendous  resources  behind  it. 
They  had  just  succeeded  in  effecting  a  most 
daring  ba^.k  robbery,  and  in  accordance  with 
a  preconceived  plan  had  set  out  for  the 
locality  in  which  Stephen  James'  station  was 
situated.  They  had  arranged  to  have  a 
steam,  ya^ht  waiting  off  Cliff  Island  to  pro- 
vide them  with  the  means  of  escaping  with 
their  booty  from  the  detectives  who  were 
hot  upon  their  track. 

After  landing,  the  three  "  crooks  "  stood 
upon  the  pier  discussing  the  best  method  of 
advising  their  accomplice  of  their  arrival. 

"Tim  Cirrigan  is  waiting  for  us  off  Cliff 
Island  in  his  yacht,"  said  Maggie  Black. 
"  Now,  I  suggest  that  we  go  out  there  and 
get  the  operator  to  send  him  a  wireless 
message  to  pick  us  up  from  there.  It  will 
be  much  safer  and  more  convenient  than 
making  him  come  here.  What  do  you  say, 
Tom  ? " 

"  Yes !  I  think  that  is  the  best  plan, 
Maggie,"  replied  "Big"  Tom.  We  can  go 
over  in  one  of  these  motor  boats,  and  be 
safely  away  in  less  than  two  hours.  When 
we  get  their,  Maggie,  you  had  better  go  on 
ahead  to  the  station  and  arrange  for  the 
message  to  go  through  and  we'll  follow  on 
afterwards.  Come  along,  we  will  start  off 
at  once." 

The  three  worthies  experienced  no 
difficulty  whatever  in  hiring  a  craft  to  take 
them  over  to  their  destination  and  were 
soon  speeding  on  their  way. 

Stephen  James  was  looking  through  his 
weekly  bundle  of  letters  and  newspapers, 
and  in  glancing  at  one  of  the  latter 
read  a  detailed  account  of  the  recent  exploit 
of  his  coming  self-invited  visitors  and  the 
large  reward  that  was  offered  by  the 
authorities  for  their  capture  : 

£3,000  REWARD. 
For  capture   of   "  Big  "  Tom  Curry, 
"  Slim "   Eastman   and    Maggie  Black, 

wanted  for  the  theft  of  securities, 
valued  at  £600,000,  from  the  Provincial 
Trust  Company.  Known  to  have 
started  south.  Full  description  as 
follows  :  Maggie  Black — height  about 
5-f  t.  6-ins.,  blonde,  generally  fashionably 


I    wish    they   would   come    my    way," 
muttered  Stephen,  throwing  down  the  paper. 
I  could  just  about  do  with  that  reward, 
but  capturing  criminals  isn't  my  luck." 

"Come  in,"  he  shouted,  as  Maggie  Black 
knocked  at  the  door.  At  that  moment  a 
message  came  through  for  him,  and  he 
turned  to  the  key-board  without  seeing  who 
entered.  The  call  was  a  fairly  long  one,  and 
Maggie  while  waiting  picked  up  the  paper 
which  Stephen  had  just  been  reading  to 
look  at.  The  first  thing  that  caught  her 
eye  was  the  account  of  the  robbery,  from 
the  consequences  of  which  she  and  her  two 
partners  were  fleeing.  The  thought  that 
Stephen  had  possibly  seen  it  struck  terror 
to  her  soul  for  a  moment.  Swiftly  gliding 
to  the  door  she  motioned  Curry  and  East- 
man inside  and  pointed  to  the  paper. 

I  believe  he's  on  to  us,"  she  whispered. 
Anyway,  we  cannot  afford   to  take  risks 
now,  so  be  ready  to  out  him  if  necessary." 

Stephen  finished  his  call,  and,  turning  to 
his  visitor,  asked,  "  Well,  madam,  and  what 
can  I  do  for  you"?"  Then  his  glance 
travelled  over  the  two  men,  and  almost 
involuntarily  the  cry  came  to  his  lips,  "Why, 

you  are ."     Too  late  he  saw  his  mistake. 

As  he  sprang  to  the  keyboard  to  tap  out  the 
alarm,  "Big"  Tom  and  "Slim"  darted 
forward  and  closed  with  Stephen.  Back- 
wards and  forwards  they  swayed,  knocking 
over  the  chairs  and  table  in  their  violent 
exertions  ;  first  one  man  on  top  and  then 
the  other.  The  issue  was  in  doubt  until 
Slim  "  pulled  out  a  revolver  and  snapped  : 
"  Put  your  hands  up,  or,  by  Grod,  I'll  plug 
you  full  of  lead  !  "  Recognising  the  foolish- 
ness of  probably  throwing  his  life  away 
uselessly  by  continuing  the  struggle  against 
such  unequal  odds,  Stephen  sullenly  sub- 
mitted to  be  gagged  and  bound  by  "  Big  " 
Tom  and  Maggie. 

"You  thought  yourself  mighty  clever, 
didn't  you.  Mister  Operator'?"  jeered  the 
woman.  "But  we're  just  one  mark  too 
wide  for  you  this  time.  You've  got  to  take 
a  little  trip  with  us  now  for  the  sake  of 
your  health." 

Rapidly  turning  to  the  other  two  men 



"  Sue  made  him  realise  that  she  understood." 

she  instructed,  Quick,  someone  may  come 
in  at  any  moment.  Bundle  him  down  to 
the  boat.  We  shall  have  to  keep  him  with 
us  until  we  can  find  Tim's  vessel,  or  else 
he'll  split  before  we  can  get  clear." 

Stephen  was  hurried  down  to  the  shore 
and  forced  into  the  waiting  motor-boat, 
inwardly  cursing  his  impulsiveness  for 
getting  himself  into  such  a  plight,  but  aid 
was  nearer  than  he  anticipated. 

Providentially,  Sue  Smith  had  chosen 
this  day  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  old  friend  at 
Cliff  Island,  and  she  arrived  at  the  station 
a  few  seconds  after  Stephen  had  been  over- 
powered and  dragged  away.  Her  quick  eyes 
took  in  every  detail  of  the  struggle,  and  she 
instinctively  guessed  that  something  serious 
had  happened.  Rushing  to  the  window  she 
saw  to  her  horror  and  dismay  a  motor-boat 
heading  away  from  the  island  towards  Smith 
Cove  and  Stephen  lying  bound  and  gagged 
in  the  stern  with  a  man  standing  over  him 
with  a  revolver. 

Sue  did  not  stop  to  consider  the  whys 
and  the  wherefores  of  the  situation.  She 
knew  of  only  one  way  in  which  to  assist 
Stephen,  and  that  was  by  the  help  of  the 
wireless  apparatus.  Seating  herself  in  front 
of   the  key-board,   she  sent  out  a  general 

alarm  call : 

"  Desperate  criminals  have  captured 
operator  at  Cliff  Island  and  are  in 
motor  boat  heading  for  Smith  Cove. 
Stop  them. 

"S.  Smith." 
This  done  she  flew  down  to  the  landing 
stage  to  impatiently  await  the  developments 
of  her  action. 

Sue's  opportune  message  was  picked  up 
by  a  passing  ship,  which  immediately  put 
about  and  pursued  the  miscreants. 

A  stern  chase  is  always  a  long  chase,  but 
Stephen  did  not  find  this  thought  very 
comforting  as  he  watched  the  pursuing 
vessel  gradually  overhaul  the  motor  boat. 
Since  leaving  Cliff  Island  he  had  made 
several  efforts  to  free  himself,  but  each  one 
was  frustrated  by  the  watchfulness  of  his 
captors,  and  had  become  reconciled  to  his 
fate  when  he  discovered  a  speck  on  the 
horizon  following  them.  As  it  crept  closer 
and  closer  he  saw  it  was  a  large  yacht  and 
his  heart  bounded  with  new  hope.  Stephen 
took  good  care  not  to  mention  his  discovery 
to  the  other  occupants  of  the  boat,  but  a 
volley  of  oaths  from  Eastman  shortly  after- 
wards intimated  that  the  three  rogues  had 
seen  they  were  being  pursued. 



That's  not  Tim's  yacht,"  said  "Big" 
Tom,  as  he  peered  anxiously  through  his 
hand    at   the    rapidly    approaching    vessel. 

Somebody's  got  the  tip  we're  out  here.  I 
expect  it's  through  that  cursed  operator  tied 
up  there." 

In  vain  were  their  efforts  to  outpace  the 
pursuing  yacht.  It  overhauled  them  so 
quickly  that  in  a  very  short  time  they  were 
compelled  to  stop  and  surrender.  Stephen 
hurriedly  explained  the  identities  of  the 
prisoners  and  himself  to  the  captain,  who 
thereupon  informed  him  of  the  wireless 
message  received  from  the  ClifT  Island 
station  signed  "S.  Smith." 

Satisfied   that  his   late  captors    were    in 

safe  hands,  Stephen  returned  to  Cliff  Island 
in  the  motor  boat  and  tenderly  thanked  Sue 
for  her  bravery  and  though tfulness.  Then 
leading  her  into  the  station  he  sent  a 
wireless  message  to  the  police  authorities, 
advising  them  of  the  capture  of  the  three 
criminals  and  claiming  the  liberal  reward  in 
the  name  of  his  little  friend. 

Drawing    Sue     towards     him,      Stephen 
wrote — 

"  Do  you  understand  1  I  have  notified 
the  authorities  that  the  criminals  are 
captured  and  that  you  are  entitled  to 
the  reward  " 
— and  Sue,  slowly  raising  her  shining  eyes 
to  his,  made  him  realise  that  she  understood. 

'T^HE  Hepworth  Manufacturing  Company  are 
-*-  still  requiring  strong  plots,  single  and 
two-ieel  dramas,  and  single-reel  comedies. 
While  thanking  all  those  who  responded  to  their 
last  appeal  for  scenarii,  Messsrs.  Hepworth 
would  point  out  to  intending  authors  that  they 
have  used  the  word  strong  advisedly,  and  a 
plot  which  cannot  be  so  designated  does  not 
stand  the  least  chance  of  acceptance.  Good 
prices  will  be  paid. 

"O  AOUL  A.  WALSH,  who  plays  Villa  in  the 
-'-*■  early  parts  of  "The  Life  of  Villa"  and 
other  "heavy  leads"  for  the  Reliance 
and  Majestic  Companies,  was  born  in  New  York 
City.  When  fifteen  years  old  he  ran  away  from 
home  and  before  he  saw  New  York  again  he  had 
visited  every  continent.  He  went  on  a  cattle- 
ship  to  South  Africa,  and  after  a  few  months 
there  worked  his  way  to  South  America.  His 
stay  in  Peru  was  short  but  exciting.  An 
Englishman  had  started  a  revolution  and  young 
Walsh  joined  him.  The  revolution  was  brief 
and  the  Englishman  was  shot.  Walsh  would 
have  suffered  a  similar  fate  had  he  been  caught. 
Some  months  later  the  adventurous  young  man 
was  in  Mexico,  where  he  was  a  cowboy  for  a 
time,  and  became  a  bull-fighter.  He  was  a  pro- 
fessional toreador  at  Chihuahua  for  a  year,  but 
after  being  seriously  injured  and  spending  a  long 
time  in  a  hospital,  he  moved  to  Texas.  He 
finally  landed  in  New  York,  where  he  played  in 
"Charlie's  Aunt,"  "  Simmony  Jane,"  "A 
Romance  of  the  Underworld,"  and  "  Thai." 
He  also  api)eared  in  musical  comedy,  where  his 
tenor  voice  was  of  value.  Two  years  ago  Walsh 
joined  the  Biograph  Company,  of  which  D.  W. 
(iriffith  was  director,  and  when  Mr.  Griffith 
joined  the  Reliance  and  Majestic  Comj)anies  as 
direotor-in-chief,  he  took  Walsh  with  him. 

TAMES  J.  CORBETT,  in  "  The  Burglar  and 
*'  the  Lady,"  produced  by  the  new  company, 
is  in  eight  reels,  as  is  also  "  The  Sins  of 
Satan,"  and  a  third  photodrama,  the  title  of 
which  is  being  jealously  guarded  at  present 
writing.  The  six-reel  drama  is  a  screen  adapta- 
tion of  Dickens'  "  The  Chimes,"  by  Mr.  Blach^, 
produced  in  collaboration  with  Tom  Terries. 
An  exceptionally  strong  cast,  which  includes 
"The  Charles  Dickens' Associate  Players,"  was 
used  in  this  production,  and  the  Dickens'  atmos- 
phere is  said  to  be  remarkably  true  to  that  of  his 
famous  works. 

The  presenting  of  Solax  and  Blache  features 
have  not  been  interrupted  by  the  activities  of  the 
new  company.  Each  of  these  well-known  con- 
cerns is  still  producing  one  featui-e  a  month  and 
is  adhering  to  the  three-reel  policy. 

AyflSS  MARIE  DRESSLER,  the  famous 
-^'-*-  American  musical  comedy  actress,  will 
shortly  be  seen  in  a  Keystone  comedy, 
which,  both  in  length  and  subject  matter,  is 
expected  to  surpass  all  previous  releases  by  this 
company.  Mr.  Mack  Sennett,  managing  director 
of  Keystone's,  has  been  engaged  on  this  subject 
with  Miss  Dressier  for  some  time  past.  The 
film  will  afford  when  completed  a  full  evening's 
entertainment,  and  while  there  will  be  plenty 
of  fun  in  it,  it  will  not  be  a  purely  comedy 
release,  but  will  also  give  Miss  Dressier  oppor- 
tunities to  show  her  talent  in  pathetic  and 
sentimental  episodes. 

In  order  to  give  her  talent  full  scope,  several 
buildings  were  erected  in  the  spacious  grounds 
of  the  Keystone  Los  Angeles  establishment,  in- 
cluding a  bank  with  revolving  doors,  tile  flooring 
and  large  windows,  and  a  house  so  well  con- 
structed that  it  is  intended  to  be  used 
permanently  as  a  residence.  A  large  amount  of 
money  has  been  expended  on  this  production. 

Frederick  the  Great. 


Based  upon  the  EDISON  Film  by  James  Wallis. 

Few  monarchs  in  history  have  had  more  eventful 
careers  than  Frederick  the  Great.  His  unhappy  youth, 
the  death  of  his  father,  the  terrible  Seven  Years'  War, 
and  the  final  triumph  of  the  Prussian  nation — are  a  few 
of  the  incidents. 

His  Youth. 

EEDERICK,  the  hero  of  the 
Seven  Years'  Wur,  was  born 
on  January  24th,  1712.  His 
father,  Frederick  William,  was 
a  rough  uncultivated  man, 
with  a  passionate  temper  that 
brooked  no  opposition,  though  he  had  con- 
siderable merits  as  a  sovereign.  His  im- 
perious will  and  coarse  associations  rendered 
him  an  object  of  dread  and  hatred  to  his 
family,  and  he  banished  anything  approaching 
refinemeni'  from  his  Court. 

Thus  the  youth  of  the  Crown  Prince 
Frederick  was  passed  amid  surroundings  of 
singular  unpleasantness. 

It  was  one  of  Frederick  William's  pet 
ambitions  to  bring  up  his  eldest  son  as  an 
«xact  copy  of  himself,  but  being  endowed 
by  nature  with  an  acute  and  refined  mind, 
it  was  not  surprising  to  find  that  Frederick 
revolted  from  the  narrow  mode  of  life  into 
which  his  father  attempted  to  force  him. 

When  but  a  boy  he  was  taken  from  the 
hands  of  the  ladies  of  the  Court  and  placed 
under  the  care  of  male  tutors,  his  education 
being  directed  solely  by  his  father.  This 
consisted  only  of  things  that  were  thought 
by  Frederick  William  to  be  practically  use- 
ful— very  little  time  for  amusement  was  left 
him;  and  in  order  to  make  him  grow  up 
strong  and  hardy  he  was  even  stinted  in  his 
food  and  sleep.  As  he  grew  older  he  was 
burdened  with  an  incessant  round  of  military 
drills  and  reviews.  Beer  and  tobacco,  his 
father's  invariable  evening  solace,  were  alike 
odious  to  him,  and  he  took  no  pleasure  in 
the  great  hunting  parties  which  were  the 
King's  favourite  recreation. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  developed  at  quite 
•an  early  age  an  unconquerable  passion  for 

literature  and  music,  which  was  only  intensi- 
fied by  the  violent  efforts  made  to  suppress  it. 

His  favourite  instrument  was  the  flute, 
and  his  love  for  playing  it  on  every  con- 
ceivable opportunity  appeared,  in  the  old 
king's  eyes,  a  sign  of  effeminacy  that  did  not 
concur  with  his  idea  of  what  his  successor 
should  be  like.  "  Fritz,"  he  would  say  with 
infinite  contempt,  '  Fritz  is  a  fiddler  and  a 
poet,  and  will  spoil  all  my  labour." 

This  tyranny  and  contempt  on  the  part  of 
his  father  served  only  to  build  up  in  his 
son's  mind  a  feeling  of  disobedience  and 
dislike,  and  various  other  causes  helped  to 
widen  the  breach.  From  contempt  the 
King  gradually  grew  to  detest  his  heir,  and 
showed  his  detestation  on  every  possible 
opportunity.  Even  in  public  he  treated  him 
with  the  greatest  indignity,  and  would  then 
taunt  him  with  cowardice  for  not  resenting 
the  affronts.  The  only  open  friend  the  young 
Prince  possessed  among  the  whole  Court 
was  Leopold,  Prince  of  Anhalt-Dessau, 
nicknamed  "  The  Old  Dessauer." 

Frederick  William  used  to  settle  many 
important  affairs  of  the  State  with  the  aid 
and  counsel  of  an  assembly  termed  '  The 
Tobacco  Parliament."  This  was  a  meeting 
of  his  chosen  friends  and  ministers  convened 
together  to  discuss  matters  over  pipe  and 
bowl.  More  often  than  not  these  gatherings 
concluded  in  a  scene  of  indescribable  dissi- 
pation and  with  the  greater  part  of  the 
members  hopelessly  intoxicated.  Little 
wonder  that  Frederick's  intellectual  mind 
preferred  the  society  of  his  books  and  music 
to  such  rough  company. 

During  these  sittings  Frederick  William, 
when  under  the  influence  of  drink  and 
knowing  his  heir's  repugnance  to  attend 
these  meetings,  would  command  his  presence, 
and  openly  bait  and  ridicule  him  before  the 



This  was  a  meeting  of  his  chosen  friends  and  ministers  convened  together  to  discuss  matters 

over  a  pipe  and  bowl." 

roomful  of   people,  and  also  force  him  to 
both  drink  and  smoke. 

Come,  milksop,  be  a  man  !  "  was  one  of 
his  sneerful  commands,  as  he  sat  and 
watched  the  Crown  Prince's  poorly  concealed 
dislike  to  comply  with  his  wishes. 

Upon  one  occasion,  happening  to  visit 
Frederick's  apartments  when  his  son  was 
giving  a  secret  recital  upon  the  flute  before 
a  few  friends,  he  snatched  the  instrument 
away,  and  infuriated  beyond  control,  shouted. 

Haven't  I  told  you  to  be  a  man,  you 
whelp  !  "  Seizing  the  boy  by  the  hair,  he 
dragged  him  to  a  window  and  would  have 
strangled  him  with  the  cord  of  the  curtain 
had  he  not  been  prevented  by  a  chamberlain. 

Frederick's  position  in  time  became  in- 
tolerable and  he  resolved  to  escape  from 
it  by  flight,  when  in  his  nineteenth 
year,  but  the  attempt  failed  and  he  was 
thrown  into  prison  and  his  accomplice 
was  executed  before  the  window  of  the 
room  in  Avhich  he  was  confined.  So 
enraged  was  the  King  by  this  action  on 
the  part  of  his  son  that  more  than  a  year 
passed  before  he  would  consent  to  even 
see  Frederick,  and  then  only  a  partial 
reconciliation  was  effected. 

This  brutal  treatment  had  the  effect  of 
forming  and  souring  the  Prince's  character. 
Originally   gentle   and    lovable,   his    nature 

became  hard  and  selfish,  and  as  he  grew  from 
a  boy  into  a  man,  he  became  proud,  reserved, 
and  capable  of  deep  dissimulation.  He  saw 
the  necessity  of  conforming,  outwardly  at 
least,  to  the  will  of  the  King,  whose  favour  he 
gained  by  applying  himself  diligently  to  the 
affairs  entrusted  to  his  management.  Gradu- 
ally, too,  he  came  to  perceive  the  good 
qualities  which  lay  underneath  the  rugged 
exterior  of  his  father,  who,  in  his  turn, 
recognised  with  pleasure  the  abilities  of  his 
son.  The  Prince  now  obtained  a  separate 
establishment  and  married  soon  afterwards 
the  Princess  Elizabeth  Christine  of  Bruns' 
wick-Bevern,  whom  the  King  had  selected 
for  him.  From  that  time  he  enjoyed  a 
larger  measure  of  liberty  than  had  hitherto 
been  allotted  to  him— his  main  reason  for 
consenting  to  the  marriage,  so  that  he 
could  without  hindrance  cultivate  his  literary 
and  artistic  tastes  in  the  society  of  friends 
of  his  own  choice. 

As  J'redeiick  William's  life  drew  to  a 
close,  he  experienced  the  ill-will  of  the 
Austrian  Court,  whose  firm  ally  and  friend 
he  had  always  been,  but  who  in  turn  had 
persisted  in  regarding  him  as  a  subject  and 
an  inferior.  This  studied  neglect  and 
contempt  grew  in  time  offensive  and  aroused 
a  deep  feeling  of  resentment  within  him. 
While    on    his    death-bed    he    receiv^ed    a 



message  of  a  singularly  insulting  nature 
from  the  Austrian  Government,  and  realising 
his  own  helplessness  to  suitably  reply  to  it, 
pointed  to  his  son,  with  whom  he  was 
completely  reconciled,  and  said  with  pride 
and  sorrow,  "  There  stands  one  who  will 
avenge  me," 

His  Accession   and   First  Few   Years 
OF  Reign. 

FREDERICK  ascended  the  throne  on 
May  31st,  1740,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
eight.  In  personal  appearance  he  was 
rather  good-looking,  well-made  though  below 
the  average  height,  and  with  a  face  possess- 
ing great  power  of  expression. 

At  the  time  of  his  accession  he  was  little 
known  except  to  a  few  intimate  friends,  and 
even  these  had  no  idea  what  manner  of 
monarch  he  was  likely  to  make.  No  one 
suspected  that  beneath  his  previous  convivial 
and  easy-going  exterior  there  lay  concealed  a 
stern,  ambitious  disposition. 

It  was  thought  that  his  accession  would 
usher  in  a  golden  age  of  peace,  but  this 
illusion  quickly  vanished,  though  some  of 
the  young  King's  earliest  acts  seemed  to 
confirm  such  a  view. 

Within  the  first  few  days  of  his  reign 
Frederick  abolished  legal  torture  ;  granted 

"He  would  have  strangled  him  with  the  cord  of  the  curtain  had  he  not 
been  prevented  by  a  chamberlain." 

complete  freedom  to  the  press ;  declared 
himself  in  favour  of  universal  toleration  in 
religion  ;  and  demonstrated  that  he  regarded 
his  own  interests  and  those  of  his  people  as 
identical  by  liberally  distributing  corn  from 
the  public  granaries  at  moderate  rates  to  the 
poor  of  several  famine-stricken  provinces. 
Yet  Frederick  soon  showed  that  he  meant 
to  rule  with  the  strong  hand,  as  his  father 
had  ruled  before  him.  The  power  of  the 
sovereign  was  practically  absolute  in  Prussia, 
and  Frederick  saw  the  strength  of  his 
position,  and  availed  himself  of  it  to  the  full 
by  taking  the  reins  of  government  into  his 
own  hands  far  more  completely  than 
Frederick  William  had  ever  done. 

Frederick  possessed  a  large  share  of  the 
qualities  which  make  a  great  ruler — a  strong 
love  of  order,  a  very  clear  insight  into  men 
and  things,  great  administrative  capacities, 
combined  with  indefatigable  industry,  and  a 
mind  capable  of  forming  the  most  extensive 
schemes  and  of  attending  at  the  same  time 
to  the  minutest  details  of  their  execution. 
To  these  qualities  must  be  added  a  rare 
strength  of  will  and  a  self-reliance  that 
never  faltered.  In  addition  to  being  a  great 
administrator  he  was  at  the  same  time  the 
most  clear-sighted  statesman  in  Europe. 
He  always  knew  what  he  wanted  and 
usually  knew  how  to  get  it. 

With  the  mass 
of  his  subjects, 
and  especially 
with  his  soldiers, 
Frederick  was 
extremely  popu- 
lar. His  system 
of  government 
was  doubtless 
despotic  and  pat- 
ernal, and  at  times 
even  tyrannical ; 
but  for  a  young 
country  that  had 
to  fight  for  its 
existence,  a  pat- 
ernal despotism 
is  no  bad  thing, 
at  any  rate  when 
the  despot  identi- 
fies himself  with 
its  welfare  so 
completely  as 
Frederick  did.  It 
maybe  questioned 
whether       under 



any  other  form 
of  government 
Prussia  could 
have  weathered 
the  storms  of  the 
Seven  Years'  War. 

At  the  time  of 
Frederick's  acces- 
sion, the  political 
horizon  in  Europe 
was  tolerably 
clear,  but  before 
he  been  on  the 
throne  seven 
months,  his  king- 
dom was  engaged 
in  a  war  with 

Frederick  saw 
in  the  internal 
disputes  that  re- 
sulted in  conse- 
quence of  the  ac- 
cession of  Maria 
Theresa,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the 
dead  Emperor 
Charles  VI.,  to 
the  throne  of 
Austria,  an  oppor- 
tunity for  aggrand- 
isement such  as 
might  never  occur 
again,  and  deter- 
mined to  utilize 
it  by  seizing 
Silesia,  an  Aus- 
trian possession 
contiguous  to  his 
own  dominions, 
and  reviving 
Prussian  claims  to 
four  small  duchies, 
about  which  there 
had  been  contro- 
versies for  some  generations. 

The  campaign  lasted  for  about  eighteen 
months,  and  is  known  as  the  First  Silesian 
War.  The  Austrian  troops  were  decisively 
defeated  at  MoUwitz  and  Chotusitz  (Czaslau) 
and  peace  was  signed  at  Breslau,  on  June 
11th,  1742,  by  which  practically  all  Silesia, 
together  with  the  county  of  Glatz,  was 
surrendered  to  the  Prussians. 

The  conquered  territory  enlarged  the 
area  of  the  Prussian  kingdom  by  one  third, 
and  increased  its  population  and  revenue  by 

I'll  nee  Fredei'ick  and  Princess  Elizabeth  Christine. 

about  one  half.  In  addition  Silesia  was 
strategically  of  immense  importance.  As 
long  as  Austria  held  it,  it  was  hardly 
possible  for  a  Prussian  army  to  penetrate  to 
Vienna,  while  the  Austrians  could  at  any 
time  march  without  difficulty  into  the  heart 
of  the  Prussian  kingdom. 

Two  years  later  the  Second  Silesian  War 
was  commenced,  and  although  the  effects  of 
the  first  campaign  were  very  disastrous  to 
Frederick,  the  later  operations  went  all  in 
his  favour,  and  the  Austrians  were  success 



ively  defeated  at  Hohenfriedberg,  Sohr, 
Hennersdorf  and  Kesselsdorf. 

Peace  was  signed  at  Dresden  on  Christ- 
mas Day,  1745,  and  by  it,  Austria  agreed  to 
recognise  the  Treaty  of  Breslau.  Upon  his 
return  home  the  King  of  Prussia  was  hailed 
by  universal  acclamation  as  Frederick  the 
Great.  The  result  of  the  First  Silesian  War 
was  the  recognition  of  Prussia  as  one  of  the 
great  powers  of  Europe,  while  the  second 
secured  her  influence  in  Germany  ;  they  may 
also  be  said  in  some  degree  to  be  responsible 
for  the  greater  and  more  bloody  Seven  Years' 

For  the  next  ten  years  Frederick  was 
busy  with  law  reforms  and  other  useful 
projects  which  his  country  was  greatly  in 
need  of  after  its  efforts  in  the  Silesian  wars. 
At  the  same  time  he  went  on  continually 
strengthening  his  army  and  laying  up  treasure 
year  by  year,  for  he  knew  well  that  however 
peaceful  his  own  intentions  might  be,  Maria 
Theresa  would  never  forgive  the  conqueror 
of  Silesia. 

Prussia  and  the  Seven  Years'  War. 

THE  occasion  of  the  Seven  Years'  War 
was  the  American  quarrel  of  England 
and  France  ;  its  cause  was  the  de- 
termination of  Maria  Theresa  to  repossess 
herself  of  Silesia. 

Maria  Theresa,  as  the  almost  lifelong  foe 
of  Fi-ederick  the  Great,  demands  some  little 
attention  at  our  hands.  In  all  respects  she 
was  a  worthy  antagonist.  She  was  barely 
twenty-four  years  old  when  the  untimely 
death  of  her  father  suddenly  called  her  in 
1*740  to  a  position  as  perilous  as  it  was 
exalted.  But  young  as  she  was  she  showed 
herself  fully  equal  to  the  emergency,  and 
her  own  high  spirit  inspired  all  about  her 
with  enthusiasm.  She  was  strikingly  hand- 
some, and  combined  a  most  fascinating 
manner  with  a  powerful  and  masculine 
understanding.  Her  energy  and  determin- 
ation never  flagged,  and  her  courage  seemed 
always  to  rise  in  proportion  to  the  difficulties 
she  had  to  contend  with.  It  is  said  at  one 
time  Frederick  wished  to  marry  her ;  but, 
apart  from  their  difference  of  religion,  the 
pride  of  the  Austrian  Court  and  the 
predilection  of  Maria  Theresa  herself  for 
someone  else,  were  insuperable  objections  to 
a  marriage  which  would  have  altered  the 
whole  course  of  German  and  European 

In  1756  international  relations  between 

the  great  powers  became  very  strained,  old 
ties  were  torn  asunder  and  the  course  of 
events  soon  ranged  them  into  two  hostile 
camps  ;  on  one  side  stood  England  and 
Prussia,  and  on  the  other  France,  Austria 
and  Russia,  with  several  of  the  minor  states. 

War  was  imminent,  and  Frederick,  satisfied 
that  he  was  about  to  be  attacked  by  a 
coalition,  saw  his  only  hope  of  safety  lay  in 
anticipating  his  foes,  and  towards  the  end 
of  August  he  burst  into  Saxony  at  the  head 
of  75,000  men.  Meantime  war  had  already 
been  declared  between  England  and  France, 
and  these  two  wars,  separate  at  the  outset, 
soon  became  blended  in  one,  which  is  known 
in  history  by  the  name  of  the  Seven  Years' 

The  first  battle  was  fought  at  Lobositz, 
Bohemia,  on  October  1st,  1756,  where  a 
well-contested,  but  indecisive  engagement 
ensued,  in  which  both  sides  claimed  the 
victory.  The  Austrians,  who  had  advanced 
to  relieve  the  Saxon  army,  were,  however, 
forced  to  retreat  with  their  object  unaccom- 
plished, the  Saxon  forces  were  compelled  to 
capitulate  and  Frederick  took  possession  of 
Saxony.  Thus  ended  the  first  campaign 
of  the  Seven  Years'  War — it  was  not  wholly 
favourable  to  Frederick,  for  by  the  time  the 
capitulation  was  signed  the  season  was  too 
far  advanced  for  military  operations,  and 
during  the  winter  Austria  was  enabled  to 
complete  her  political  and  military  pre- 

The  odds  against  Prussia  when  the  war 
was  resumed  the  next  year  were  tremendous, 
although  not  so  absolutely  overwhelming  as 
mere  figures  showed.  It  has  been  calculated 
that  the  population  of  the  states  that  were 
then  arrayed  against  Frederick  amounted 
to  90,000,000,  and  that  they  put  430,000 
men  into  the  field  in  the  year  1757.  The 
population  of  "Prussia  was  4,500,000,  her 
army  200,000  strong,  of  which  number  a 
quarter  was  reciuired  to  garrison  the 
fortresses.  To  counterbalance  the  disparity, 
if  his  troops  were  few  in  numbers  compared 
with  the  hosts  of  the  enemy,  they  were  in 
quality  inferior  to  none  in  Europe,  and  they 
were  commanded  by  the  finest  general  of 
the  age  ;  also  although  his  country  was  poor, 
so  far  was  it  from  being  burdened  with 
debt  that  treasure  to  the  amount  of  two  and 
three-quarter  million  pounds  had  been 
amassed  during  the  peace. 

The  year  1757  was  the  most  brilliant  of 
Frederick's  life.     The    later    years    of    the 



A  scene  from  the  film. 

war  were  perhaps  more  glorious — the  years 
in  which,  with  dwindling  resources,  he  stood 
on  the  defensive  against  a  host  of  enemies, 
keeping  them  at  bay  by  consummate  strategy 
— but  the  events  of  1757  struck  the 
imagination  more  forcibly.  In  no  other 
year  did  the  King  gain  such  great  victories  : 
in  no  other  did  he  experience  so  sharply  the 
vicissitudes  of  fortune.  The  campaign  opened 
for  him  with  the  brightest  prospects.  Enter- 
ing Bohemia  at  the  head  of  a  vast  army,  he 
won  a  great  battle  before  Prague  on  May  6th, 
which  seemed  to  lay  Austria  prostrate  at  his 
feet ;  yet  six  weeks  later  he  was  so  crush- 
ingly  defeated  at  the  battle  of  Kollin,  that 
it  appeared  to  be  the  certain  forerunner  of 
his  ruin.  He  was  compelled  to  evacuate 
Bohemia,  while  his  enemies,  encouraged  by 
the  defeat  of  the  hitherto  resistless  conqueror, 
closed  in  upon  him  from  every  side. 
Austrians,  French,  Russians,  Swedes  and 
Imperialists,  all  fell  upon  him  at  once.  His 
position  seemed  desperate,  when  suddenly 
rising  like  a  lion  from  his  lair,  he  scattered 
his  foes  by  two  great  victories — the  battle 
of  Rossbach  aud  Leuthen — each  of  which 
resulted  in  the  total  rout  of  the  beaten 
army.  The  former  cleared  his  north-west 
frontier  and  the  latter  drove  the   Austrians 

back  into  Bohemia  with  a  loss  of  nearly 
two-thirds  of  their  number.  The  Russian 
army  which  was  overrunning  East  Prussia 
returned  home,  and  the  Swedes  were  dis- 
lodged from  the  few  places  they  had  captured 
in  Prussian  Pomerania  and  were  forced  to 
seek  refuge  under  the  guns  of  Stralsund. 

Never  had  Frederick's  reputation  stood 
higher  than  at  the  close  of  this  memorable 

The  campaign  of  1758,  if  less  fertile  in 
striking  incidents  than  that  of  the  previous 
year,  brings  into  prominence  the  great 
strategical  qualities  on  which,  far  more  than 
on  his  battles,  the  military  reputation  of 
Frederick  is  based. 

In  April,  1758,  England  concluded  a  close 
Treaty  of  Alliance  with  Prussia,  granted 
Frederick  a  subsidy  of  .£670,000  a  year, 
and  elected  Duke  Ferdinand  of  Brunswick 
to  the  command  of  the  Hanoverian  army. 
This  last  item  was  particularly  pleasing  to 
Frederick,  for  Ferdinand  was  an  excellent 
soldier,  and  this  re-establishment  of  the 
Hanoverian  army  under  an  efficient  leader, 
covered  his  right  flank  and  saved  him  from 
fear  of  invasion  from  that  quarter. 

Operations  were  commenced  with  an 
offensive  movement,  and  siege  was  laid   to 



the  important  fortress  of  Olmutz,  which  had 
to  be  raised  when  nearly  completed  through 
the  loss  of  a  great  convoy  of  3,000  to  4,000 
wagons.  This  loss  placed  him  in  consider- 
able peril,  but  marching  into  Bohemia  he 
maintained  himself  there  until  news  came  of 
a  Russian  advance  into  Brandenburg.  He 
defeated  the  Russians  at  Zorndorf  on  August 
25th,  1758,  and  drove  them  into  Poland. 
Hastening  back  into  Saxony,  through  his 
reckless  choice  of  an  encampment,  Frederick 
was  attacked  during  the  night  and  beaten 
with  severe  loss  by  the  Austrian  army  at 
the  Battle  of  Hochkirch,  on  October  14th, 

1758.  Re-organizing  his  army,  without  inter- 
ference from  the  prudent  and  timid  Austrian 
commander,  Daun,  Fiederick  relieved  Silesia 
which  was  threatened  by  a  second  Austrian 
force,  and  returned  in  time  to  save  Saxony. 

The  close  of  this  campaign  marks  a  definite 
shape  in  the  history  of  the  war.  To  all 
outward  appearance  Frederick's  prospects 
were  still  fair  enough,  but  the  protraction 
of  the  war  was  telling  far  more  on  the 
resources  of  Prussia  than  on  those  of  the 
great  powers  allied  against  her.  Three 
years  of  the  war  were  gone  and  the  ardour 
of  Frederick's  enemies  showed  no  sign  of 
abating.  Maria  Theresa  was  a  great 
stumbling  block  to  a  peaceful  settlement. 

Already  Frederick  was  at  his  wit's  end  for 
men  and  money.  The  severe  campaigns  had 
made  great  havoc  in  his  army,  which  the  levies 
from  the  Prussian  dominions  were  inadequate 
to  fill,  and  but  for  the  English  subsidy  he 
could  have  hardly  subsisted  at  all. 

The  summer  was  half  gone  before  there 
was  any  serious  fighting  in  the  campaign  of 

1759,  owing  to  Frederick  remaining  entirely 
on  the  defensive.  Towards  the  middle  of 
July,  the  Russians  advanced  and  took 
possession  of  Frankfort,  and  were  there 
joined  by  a  reinforcement  of  18,000  Austrians. 
Although  confronted  by  an  army  of  nearly 
double  his  strength,  Frederick  resolved  to 
fight,  and  after  first  gaining  an  advantage 
was  completely  and  overwhelmingly  routed 
in  the  Battle  of  Kunersdorf  on  August  12th, 
1759.  For  the  first  (and  last)  time  in  his  life 
Frederick  gave  way  utterly  to  despair,  but 
by  degrees  the  prospect  brightened  and  the 
inactivity  of  the  victors  to  follow  up  their 
victory  allowed  him  time  to  recover  from 
the  eff"ects  of  his  defeat. 

When  the  Russians  subsequently  retired 
into  Poland  the  campaign  would  have 
probably  ended  had  not  Frederick's  desire 

to  close  it  with  a  victory  led  him  into  a 
fresh  disaster,  which  resulted  in  the  surrender 
of  a  whole  Prussian  corps  of  nearly  13,000 
men  at  Maxen,  on  November  23rd. 

The  position  of  Frederick  was  now  pre- 
carious in  the  extreme,  and  was  one  that 
called  forth  all  the  powers  of  his  genius  to 
redeem.  His  constitution  was  almost 
broken  down  with  disease  and  accumulated 
calamities,  and  now  owing  to  a  change  of 
government  England  withdrew  her  support. 
For  more  than  two  years  the  king  had  been 
maintaining  a  mere  struggle  for  existence, 
losing  ground  inch  by  inch,  and  the  recent  dis- 
asters exulted  the  enemy  and  spread  a  feeling 
of  despondency  through  the  Prussian  ranks. 

But  while  the  downfall  of  Prussia  seemed 
impending,  matters  in  Western  Germany 
had  proved  much  more  successful.  Ferdinand 
had  driven  the  French  across  the  Rhine 
but  after  beating  them  at  Crefield  on 
June  23rd,  1758,  was  himself  defeated  at 
the  Battle  of  Bergen  on  April  13th,  1759, 
and  was  forced  to  retire.  On  August  1st, 
however,  he  defeated  them  again  at  Minden 
and  forced  them  to  retreat  in  disorder. 

Fresh  misfortunes  followed  in  the  early 
part  of  1860.  A  Prussian  corps  was  an- 
nihilated at  Landeshut  on  June  23rd,  and  a 
general  advance  was  begun  by  his  opponents. 
After  a  series  of  intricate  manoeuvres, 
Frederick  defeated  the  Austrians  with  great 
loss  at  Liegnitz,  on  August  15th,  and  on 
November  3rd  defeated  them  again  at  the 
Battle  of  Torgau. 

The  next  year,  1761,  was  one  of  marches 
and  manoeuvres  without  a  single  pitched 
battle.  At  no  period  of  the  war  had  the 
situation  of  Prussia  looked  so  hopeless  as  at 
the  close  of  this  year — fully  half  of  the 
Prussian  dominions  were  occupied  by  the 
enemy,  and  the  army  was  reduced  to  60,000 
men.  Under  these  circumstances  the  loss  of 
the  moral  and  material  support  of  England 
must  almost  certainly  have  turned  the  scale 
against  Prussia  but  for  a  sudden  and  com- 
plete change  in  the  policy  of  Russia  through 
the  death  of  the  Czarina  Elizabeth,  who 
exercised  a  personal  animosity  against 
Frederick,  on  January  5th,  1762.  She 
was  succeeded  by  her  nephew,  Peter  HI., 
who  had  long  maintained  a  great  admiration 
for  the  Prussian  king.  On  May  5th  peace 
was  declared  between  Prussia  and  Russia, 
and  a  month  later  an  offensive  and  defensive 
alliance  was  entered  into.  Sweden  now 
retired  from  the  war,  and  for  the  first  time 



since  1  7  6  8*^ 
Frederick  took 
the  initiative. 
The  deposition  of 
Peter  by  his  wife 
Frederick's  plans, 
but  the  new 
Czarina  confirmed 
the  treaty  of 
peace.  The  Battle 
of  Burkersdorf, 
fought  on  July 
21st,  1762,  forced 
the  Austrians  to 
retire,  and  truces 
made  between  the 
opposing  armies 
before  retiring  in- 
to winter  qaarters, 
ended  what 
proved  to  be  the 
last  campaign  of 
the  Seven  Years'  War. 

By  the  Peace  of  Paris  signed  by  England, 
France  and  Spain,  it  was  agreed  that  both 
England  and  France  should  retire  together 
from  the  German  war.  This  withdrawal 
left  Austria  and  Prussia  face  to  face.  It 
was  obviously  useless  for  Austria  to  think  of 
accomplishing  unassisted  that  which  she  had 
failed  to  achieve  with  half  Europe  fighting 
for  her,  and  Maria  Theresa,  recognising  the 
inevitable,  avowed  herself  ready  for  peace. 
A  treaty  of  peace  was  accordingly  signed  at 
the  Saxon  castle  of  Hubertsburg  on  Febru- 
ary 5th,  1763,  by  which  both  Austria  and 
Prussia  retained  the  territory  they  owned 
previous  to  the  war. 

The  results  of  the  seven  years'  war  proved 
a  great  moral  triumph  for  Frederick.  Prussia 
had  not  lost  an  inch  of  territory  in  spite  of 
the  vast  coalition  Austria  had  formed  for  the 
purpose  of  destroying  her,  and  her  success 
had  attracted  the  admiring  attention  of 
(Germany  and  inspired  it  with  a  longing  for 
national  existence.  Austrian  supremacy  was 
overthrown  and  Austria  and  Prussia  were 
established  as  equal  powers. 

The  Close  of  Frederick's  Reign. 

THE  Peace  of  Hubertsburg  divides  the 
reign    of   Frederick  into  two  equal 
parts.     The  first  period   of  twenty- 
three    years   was   occupied   in   gaining  for 

A  scene  tioiii  the  tilm. 

Prussia  a  position  among  the  great  powers  of 
Europe.  The  second  was  chiefly  devoted  to 
securing  that  position  and  to  healing  the 
wounds  the  country  had  received  in  the 
struggle  by  which  it  was  gained. 

Frederick's  death  was  caused  by  a  severe 
cold  he  caught  at  a  review,  when  he  sat  on 
horseback  for  six  hours  in  the  drenching 
rain  without  even  putting  on  his  cloak. 
From  this  chill  he  never  recovered,  and  he 
breathed  his  last  soon  after  two  o'clock  on 
the  morning  of  August  17th,  1786.  He 
was  seventy  four  years  old  and  had  reigned 
forty-six.  His  was  not  the  fate  which  has 
sometimes  befallen  great  men,  of  being  cut 
off  by  untimely  death  in  the  midst  of  their 
labours.  He  died  full  of  years  and  with  his 
work  accomplished.  He  had  found  Prussia 
the  weakest  and  by  far  the  smallest  of  the 
great  European  powers,  and  he  left  her  their 
acknowledged  equal  in  strength  and  reputa- 
tion. He  had  broken  the  Austrian  suprem- 
acy in  Germany  and  taught  the  German 
nation  to  look  up  to  Prussia  as  its  natural 
leader  and  had  fully  justified  his  designation 
of  "  the  Great." 

The  author  desires  to  express  his  appreciation 
of  F.  IV.  Longman's  excellent  hook  ^^  Frederick 
the  Great  and  the  Thirty  Years'  War"  for 
mueJi,  ralnaljle  information. 

On  tfve  JScreen 


Mr.  Strong  has  for  several  years  been  connected  with  one 
of  the  largest  houses  in  the  Film  Trade.  In  his  monthly 
article  this  keen  observer  discusses  happenings  in  the 
Picture  World  and  gives  his  ideas  and  suggestions  which, 
supported  by  such  practical  experience,  prove  valuable 
and  instructive  reading. 

FEW  evenings  ago  I  was  drawn 
into  a  theatre — not  a  first-run 
place,  but  still  a  picture  house 
of  some  standing,  at  which 
ofttimes  very  good  pro- 
grammes are  given.  I  did 
not  go  because  I  wanted  to.  At  the  time  I 
was  very  busy,  but  I  went  to  please  another 
person.  What  was  the  result  %  I  came  out 
sad  at  the  loss  of  two  valuable  hours. 
Usually  I  enjoy  pictures  to  the  utmost — I 
never  consider  an  hour  or  two  in  a  cinema 
wasted,  and  I  am  refreshed  ready  for  the 
next  day's  tasks.  But  on  this  occasion  I 
was  sick  to  the  soul.  I  had  watched  a  four- 
reel  melodrama  which  had  been  boosted,  as 
our  friends  across  the  water  say,  all  over  the 
country.  It  had  all  the  murderous  incidents, 
all  the  blood  and  screechings  of  a  penny 
dreadful — and  the  end  was  an  appalling 
anomaly  of  the  kind  which  calls  for  ridicule. 
Half  the  film  was  padding,  the  other  half 
uninteresting  novelette.  And  this  picture, 
I  believe,  has  had  a  great  run  in  every  large 
town  and  county.  Why  %  Because  no  doubt 
it  is  an  exclusive,  ushered  in  with  a  blare  of 
trumpets,  and  its  title  so  blazoned  forth  that 
people  began  to  talk  of  it  even  before  it 
appeared.  But  this  sort  of  thing  must  be 
condemned.  It  spells  the  debasement  of 
the  cinema,  and  one  can  well  understand 
that  there  are  those  who  utter  unkind  words 
about  the  pictures  after  such  a  performance. 
*  *  * 

TO  me  the  film  is  a  wonderful  thing — 
the  manufacture  an  art  on  equal 
footing  with  any  other.  The  good 
film  teaches  things  the  masses  would  never 
know  or  understand  were  cinematography 
an  impossibility;  the  good  picture  on  the 
screen,  as  well  as  the   work  of  art  in  the 

gallery,  teaches  the  beauty  of  things,  and 
creates  interest  in  the  little-known,  there- 
fore its  debasement  in  any  shape  or  form  is 
an  evil,  and  all  lovers  of  the  motion  pictures 
must  on  all  occasions  be  definite  in  their 
expression  of  regret  when  absurd  and  in- 
artistic films  are  screened.  Eisks  and 
dangers,  thrilling  feats  and  daring  incidents 
have  their  value  in  so  far,  but  sheer  blood- 
thirstiness,  murder,  reckless  shooting  and 
battery,  mere  episodes  pushed  in  to  bolster 
up  some  action  in  the  picture,  is  not  only 
unnecessary  but  a  crime  against  cinemato- 
graphy. Strong  words,  you  say,  but  you 
realise  the  truth  of  it,  and  that  is  all  I  wish 
to  bring  home.  Perhaps  the  next  time  you 
see  a  film  of  this  nature  at  your  favourite 
cinema  you  will  not  hesitate  to  suggest  to 
the  manager  your  displeasure.  For  you,  it 
should  be  remembered,  are  the  true  censors 
of  films;  and  if  you  do  not  make  your  voices 
heard,  perhaps  some  day  the  power  to  de- 
mand this  or  that  class  of  entertainment 
may  be  forced  out  of  your  hands. 
+  +  * 

IN  America,  you  know,  the  big  film  manu- 
facturing concerns  make  a  programme 
of  pictures  for  every  day,  and  these 
pictures  are  sent  to  the  special  exchanges 
which  supply  them  to  the  cinemas.  A 
cinema  fixes  with  the  exchange  of  a  company 
for  a  regular  programme  by  contract,  and 
once  the  engagement  is  made  the  patrons 
have  to  sit  and  watch  whatever  the  company 
care  to  make  and  deliver.  This  is  not  at  all  to 
our  English  taste.  We  do  not  want  such  a 
system  here,  but  attempts  are  being  slyly 
made  to  force  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  in, 
and  some  people  are  only  just  waiting  the 
opportunity  to  force  it  home.  While  you 
have  the  power  in  your  hands  then  use  it 



to  demand  the  pictures  you  want,  and 
support  your  cinema  manager,  who  has  a 
very  thankless  job  when  it  comes  to  arrang- 
ing his  programme.  Grive  him  encourage- 
ment and  the  quality  of  your  entertainment 
will  not  depreciate.  He  will  appreciate 
your  interest  and  you  will  feel  a  closer 
intimacy  with  cinematography. 

FOR  some  reason  or  other  I  have  recently 
had  a  spate  of  inquiries  by  would-be  film 
actors  and  actresses,  and  one  particu- 
larly buoyant  message  from  a  little  girl.  It 
is  marvellous  the  wasted  talent  there  is  in 
this  country  if  what  I  am  told  is  all  true, 
and  I  have  no  particular  reasons  for  doubting 
it.  Still,  all  these  screen  aspirants  seem  to 
have  an  idea  that  picture  acting  needs  but 
an  aptitude  for  facial  contortion,  gesture 
and  imitation,  without  any  special  training, 
and  it  is  here  the  great  mistake  is  made. 
Screen  acting  requires  infinite  pains  and 
study  in  training.  It  is  only  one  in  a 
million  who  can  go  straight  away  with  little 
knowledge  of  the  business  and  act  before  the 
camera.  Patient  training  and  weeks  of 
downright  hard  work  precedes  the  screen 
artiste's  debut,  and  then  oftimes  the  debut 
is  not  only  the  first  but  the  last  appearance. 
The  most  successful  actors  and  actresses  in 
films  are  those  who  have  shown  ability  to 
take  pains.  Their  lives  are  full  of  honest 
hard  work — the  work  of  preparation  and 
study  apart  from  actual  acting,  and  they  get 
no  relief,  for  picture  making  goes  on  from 
early  morning  to  late  evening — it  is  a 
strenuous  business.  So  I  would  say  to  all 
you  young  aspirants:  If  you  are  really  so 
interested,  if  you  really  imagine  you  have 
the  genius  for  screen  acting,  study  and 
learn  ;  and  if  after  a  few  months'  hard 
gruelling — with  introspection — you  still 
hanker  after  the  glory  of  appearing  on  the 
screen,  and  if  you  still  think  and  believe 
you  could  make  good  if  you  have  but  the 
opportunity,  then  visit  the  various  studios 
and  make  application  for  a  smaller  post,  but 
rest  assured  you  are  not  going  to  be  treated 
as  Asta  Neilsens  and  King  Baggots  before 
you  have  proved  your  worth. 

UNEMATOGRAPHY     has     come     to 

I     China  with  force  and  vigour,  and  the 

Chinese  are  after  making  their  own 

plays.  To  the  Chinaman,  our  Western 
society  drama  and  play  is  incomprehensible, 
as  may  be  well  understood  and  so  he  is 
setting  about  the  manufacture  of  films 
that  he  and  his  brethren  will  naturally 
understand.  Some  time  ago  an  American 
went  out  to  China  for  a  firm  to  make 
pictures,  but  it  appears  the  firm  imagined 
the  yellow  men  people  to  be  handled  as 
savages.  The  gentleman  who  went  out  to 
make  pictures,  however,  quickly  realized 
conditions  and  invited  a  local  dramatic  club 
to  play  before  the  camera.  The  result  was 
instant  success.  He  trained  the  young  men 
of  the  club — they  were  all  young  men  even 
for  the  female  parts,  because  the  women 
never  act  in  China — and  he  brought  them 
to  a  high  stage  of  film — acting  efficiency. 
Then  something  went  wrong — not  with  him, 
but  the  treatment  meted  out  to  him  by  his 
firm,  and  he  decided  to  return  to  America. 
On  the  eve  of  his  departure  a  delegation  of 
Chinese  merchants  waited  on  him — they 
were  the  fathers  of  the  boys  he  had  trained. 
They  wanted  him  to  stay  and  make  pictures, 
and  the  result  of  the  conference  was  the 
formation  of  a  Chinese  company  for  the  pro- 
duction of  motion  pictures  in  China.  At 
present  this  gentleman  is  in  America  buying 
what  he  needs  to  start  work.  He  speaks 
most  highly  of  Chinese  intelligence  and 
integrity.  He  says  that  if  they  are  treated 
rightly  they  are  the  fairest,  squarest  men  to 
do  business  with  he  has  found  anywhere. 
They  never  go  back  on  their  agreement,  and 
never  agree  to  anything  they  do  not  mean 
to  carry  out.  This  is  all  excellent  reading, 
but  the  great  point  is  the  advance  of 
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conquest — the  conquest  of  the  oldest  civiliza- 
tion, which  we  all  imagined  had  sunken 
into  irremediable  decay. 

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Pidure  Stories  Magazine. 

(Illustrated    Films  Monthly). 
CONTENTS    FOR    OCTOBER,    1914. 


No.    14. 

Scene  from  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  MISS  TOMBOY  (Vitagraph). 



Miss   KATE    PRICE 


Mr.    ARNOLD    DALY    ... 

Miss  ALICE  JOYCE       ... 





HIS  LAST  CHANCE     ... 

THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  CLAY   (Conclusion)  ... 

THE  SHEPHERDER       ... 

BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS  (First  Instalment) 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF   MISS  TOMBOY  (First  Instalment) 


ONE  OF  OUR  GIRLS    ... 



NOTE  :  These  stories  are  written  from  films  produced  by  Motion  Picture  Manufacturers 
and  our  writers  claim  no  credit  for  title  or  plot.     When  known   to  us,  the   name  of  the 
playwright  is  announced. 






Famous  Players    . 


Famous  Players    . 











..      65 


..       69 


..       76 

Jesse  L.   Lasky    . 

..       81 

1 01   Bison 



..       95 


..     102 

Famous  Players    . 

..     108 

B.   €r   C. 

..     114 


..     120 



Evan  Strong 


PICTURE    STORIE5    MAGAZINE    is    printed    and  published   by   The   Camberwell    Press,    Dugdale    Street 

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(Famous  Players) 

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H                  ,*5T' 


Picture  Stories  Magazine. 

No.   14.      Vol.  III.     October,   1914. 

His  Last  Chance. 

Adapted   from    the    IMP    Drama    hy    Rosa    Beaulaire. 

A  young  reporter,  given  to  enjoyment  rather  than  to 
hard  work,  is  suddenly  called  to  book.  A  last  chance 
is  offered  him,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  friend  he  plots 
to  work  a  "scoop."  The  "scoop"  is  successful,  but 
the  plot  ends  in  tragedy.  The  reporter  is  arrested 
for  murder,  but  the  application  of  the  "  third  degree  " 
reveals  the  real  murderer.  The  working  of  the 
story  is  curious. 

^OB  EEID  walked  into  the 
editor's  office  with  some 
qualms.  He  knew  he  was  on 
the  carpet  for  neglecting  his 
work  and  feared  the  result. 
That  you,  Reidl"  shouted 
the  chief  over  his  shoulder. 

Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  quaking  reporter. 

"  I  want  a  word  with  you.  Your  stuff  is 
not  up  to  scratch.  You're  slacking,  and  if 
you  do  not  improve  there  are  breakers 

"^  Well " 

"  Don't  make  excuses,  but  listen.  I'm 
going  to  give  you  a  chance.  If  you  don't 
bring  in  something  good  within  the  next 
fortnight,  your  connection  with  the  'News' 
will  be  severed." 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

"  You'd  better.  Don't  talk  now.  Think 
it  over — and  do  something." 

Reid  did  not  talk,  he  got  out  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

For  a  moment  Bob  thought  seriously,  but 
the  mood  did  not  last  long.  Our  young 
reporter  was  not  one  to  give  way  to 

That  night  he  was  playing  cards  as  usual 
with  Tom  Wilson,  his  chum,  and  a  few 
choice  spirits,  at  the  house  of  Carl  Eitz,  the 
millionaire,  to  whom  Tom  Wilson  was 
secretary.  Ritz  was  away,  and  Tom  did 
pretty  well  as  he  liked  in  his  absence. 

Play  ran  high  that  night  and  Wilson  ran 
into  a  course  of  bad  luck.  All  his  ready 
cash  disappeared  into  the  pockets  of  his 
friends,  and  before  the  grey  dawn  broke  it 
looked  as  if  the  game  must  be  stopped. 
But  Tom  was  not  beaten  yet — he  would 
never  let  the  game  end  before  daybreak — 
that  would  be  against  all  convention. 

Wait  a  minute,  boys,"  he  cried,  rising. 

"  I'll  get  some  more  coin.  We  can't  stop 
so  soon." 

He  had  the  idea  in  his  head  of  appropriating 
some  of  his  master's  loose  money,  for  he  had 
the  keys  of  the  safe,  and  this  would  not  be 
the  first  time  he  had  borrowed  surreptitiously 
when  in  a  tight  hole. 

But  someone  else  was  watching  to  take  a 
hand  in  the  game — the  butler,  a  suave 
fellow,  but  one  to  whom  any  sensitive 
person  would  take  instant  dislike.  Ritz 
kept  him  because  he  did  his  work  well ; 
Wilson  tolerated  the  man  because  he  knew 
too  much. 

Tom  opened  the  safe  and  seized  a  hand- 
ful of  notes,  when  a  slight  sound  caused 
him  to  turn.  At  his  elbow  was  the  smirking 
butler  with  one  hand  extended  ;  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  attitude  was  obvious,  and 
recovering  from  his  first  shock  Tom  thrust 
a  goodly  tip  into  the  grasping  paw. 

"  Quiet,  Johnston  ;  not  a  word,"  he  said 
with  one  finger  to  his  lips.  "Remember, 
Ritz  must  not  hear  of  this  until  I  can  put 
the  money  back." 

"  Sir,  I'm  as  dumb  as  the  grave,"  replied 
the  butler  in  a  monotone,  still  smirking  as 
he  retired. 

Tom  went  back  to  his  chums  and  the 
game  continued.  It  was  broad  daylight 
when  the  revellers  left.  Just  before  the 
departure.  Bob  Reid  called  Wilson  aside  and 
whispered  :  "Tom,  the  chief  has  sat  on  me 
again;  given  me  a  fortnight  to  make  good  ; 
I'll  call  this  afternoon  to  talk  things  over 
with  you.     Will  you  be  in  1 " 

"  Yes,  old  man ;  any  time  you  like," 
replied  Tom. 

"All  right,  then.     Good-bye." 


Bob  dashed  home,  bathed,  and  burnished 
himself  up  a  bit,  and  dashed  off  to  the  office. 




Black  looks  met  him,  and  he  was  glad  to  get 
out  and  round  to  see  Wilson.  On  the  way 
a  bright  idea  struck  him.  Wilson  had 
received  a  notification  that  Ritz  was  return- 
ing in  a  day  or  so.  He,  Bob  Reid,  must  get 
a'j  scoop  "  to  reinstate  himself  at  the  office. 
Why  not  ?  Yes,  why  not  kidnap  Ritz  with 
Wilson's  aid — hold  him  a  few  days  while  he, 
Bob,  filled  his  paper  with  stories  and  then 
gave  the  police  a  hint  where  he  could  be 
found.  He  would  win  all  along  the  line  if 
only  it  could  be  done. 

Bob  immediately  proposed  the  scheme  to 
his  friend,  but  Tom  Wilson  was  dubious  at 

How  do  you  think  we  can  carry  it  out  1 
We  can- 
not get 
hold  of 
R  i  t  z 
his  recog- 
n  i  si  ng 
us?"  he 

drug  his 
then  ," 
said  Bob. 
"You  say 
he  a  1  - 
ways  has 
a  final 
drop  be- 
ing  in."  3 

we  could 
do    that, 

but  we  should  have  to  be  very  careful. 
What  do  you  propose  to  do  when  we  get 
him  out  of  the  house  1 " 

Drop  him  in  a  car  and  take  him  to  the 
old  deserted  house,  over  Crag  Hill ;  you 
know,  the  place  we  stumbled  on  about  a 
month  ago  when  we  toured  round." 


"  Then  we'll  bind  him,  place  him  comfort- 
able, and  leave  him.  After  a  few  days  we'll . 
give  the  police  a  sly  tip  by  a  roundabout 
way  and  he  will  be  found.  It  will  create 
quite  a  stir,  and  I  shall  get  a  story  which 
will  do  me  a  bit  of  good." 

It  sounds  easy — and  I  should  like  him 
otit  of  the  way  for  a  day  or  two,  to  give  me 

"  The  millionaire  was  kidnapped  and  bundled  into  a  motor  car." 

time  to  replace  the  money  I  have  borrowed.' 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  fix  it ;  if  successful, 
and  there's  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  be, 
it  will  put  us  both  right.     Are  you  game  1 " 

"Yes,  I'm  ready." 
When  does  Ritz  come  home  1" 

"  To-night." 

"  Then  the  sooner  we  carry  the  scheme 
out  the  better.  We'll  do  it  to-night.  You 
carry  out  your  part ;  drug  his  drink  and 
signal  me  ;  I'll  find  a  car  and  wait  till  you 
let  me  know  all  is  ready." 

*         *         * 

Karl  Ritz  returned  home  late  in  the 
evening,  had  dinner,  and  dismissing  every- 
one, prepared  for  a  quiet  read  and  his  last 


had  done 
his  part.  . 
Ri  tz, 
by  the 
fire,  read- 
ing by  a 
lamp  at 
his  side, 
ed to  the 
the  two 
tors had 
no  diffi- 
culty   in 

out  their  arrangements.  The  millionaire 
was  kidnapped,  bundled  into  a  motor  car, 
and  rushed  off"  to  a  deserted  house,  where 
he  was  placed,  securely  bound,  and  left. 

Bob  got  his  story  in  the  "  News."  It  was 
a  great  scoop,  and  Reid  was  complimented 
by  the  chief.  His  position  was  assured,  and 
progress  made  possible.  Wilson,  however, 
was  very  nervous.  True,  the  respite  was 
useful.  He  would  be  able  to  put  matters 
straight ;  but  he  had  fears.  He  was  not 
elated  like  Bob  Reid,  and  his  was  the  right 
presentiment.  His  chum  got  a  rude  shock 
late  that  afternoon. 

He  was  talking  in  the  outer  office  with 
his  confreres,  talking  about  his  great  scoop, 



when   a  rather   portly   gentleman  entered, 
followed  by  a  police  constable. 

"  Mr.    Reid  1 "   asked   the   rather  portly 

"Yes,  sir,  lam  Mr.  Reid,"  answered  Bob. 

'Do    you    recognise   this?"   asked    the 
stranger,  producing  a  small  notebook. 
Yes,  it  belongs  to  me;  I  had  lost  it." 
Do  you  remember  where  you  lost  it  1 " 
So,  I'm  afraid  not." 
Well,    I   am    Detective  Smoles,  and   I 
must  warn  you.     This  morning,  we  received 
a    mysterious    message   immediately    after 
hearing  Mr.   Ritz  was  missing.     Following 
instructions   in   that  message  we  visited  a 
deserted  house  outside  the  town.     In  the 
attic   we 
found    a 
body  — 
It   was 
the  body 
of   Mr. 
was  lying 
a  t   h  i  s 
side. ' 

gave  a 
gasp  of 

—  no; 
not dead. 
He  was 
not  dead 
when  — " 
he  cried,  stunned  by  the  news. 

"  I  must  warn  you  again,  for  I  must  take 
you  into  custody. 

I  can  explain  exactly — everything.  But 
not  here.  I  will  come  with  you,"  said  Bob 
eagerly,  if  shakily. 

Bob  asked  the  detective  to  go  to  Ritz's 
house  with  him,  and  the  officer  acquiesced. 
There  Tom  Wilson,  who  collapsed  almost 
at  the  sight  of  the  police  constable,  was 
interviewed.  The  two  young  fellows  told 
the  detective  their  side  of  the  story,  omitting 
nothing  down  to  the  merest  detail  of  the 
reason  for  the  kidnapping. 

They  so  impressed  the  detective  that  he 
decided  on   a  piece  of  risky  strategy — the 

strategy  known  in  the  United  States  as  the 
"Third  Degree." 

The  brother  of  the  dead  man  was  tele- 
graphed for.  But  he  was  not  allowed  to 
enter  the  house  or  be  seen.  When  he 
arrived  he  was  met  by  the  detective,  who 
explained  all  the  circumstances  of  the  crime 
and  sought  his  assistance. 

"First  of  all.  Mr.  Ritz,  I  want  you  to 
shave  off  your  beard  and  make  yourself  up 
as  near  as  possible  like  your  brother,"  said 
the  detective.  "  The  story  those  boys  have 
told  me  is  too  clear  and  explicit  for  one  to 
believe  it  to  be  anything  but  the  truth." 

"And  what  have  I  to  do  with  the  unravel- 
ling of  this  mystery?"  queried  the  dead  man's 

who  was 
for  the 

will  see 
ly.  Un- 
ly the 
was  com- 
mi  tted 
by  some- 
one who 
saw  and 
knew  a 
in     your 

brother's  household.  We  shall  see.  I 
want  you  to  enter  the  house  without  being 
seen ;  after  shaving,  sit,  in  your  brother's 
chair  as  if  you  were  at  home — in  fact,  act  as 
your  brother,  and  await  developments.  We 
shall  be  at  hand,  hidden,  but  watching." 

When  dusk  came  on  the  millionaire's 
brother,  now  clean-shaven  and  easily  to  be 
mistaken  for  the  dead  man,  was  smuggled 
into  the  house  and  dressed  in  some  clothing 
which  made  him  a  perfect  double  of  his 
brother.  Then  he  was  placed  in  his  brother's 
favourite  chair  and  left  alone — though  the 
detective  and  the  two  boys  Avere  hidden 
behind  curtains. 

Time   passed   without  development,  but 

In  the  attic  we  found  a  dead  body — bound." 



presently  the  butler  came  slipping  into  the 
room.  At  first  he  noticed  nothing  The 
hidden  men  held  their  breath.  Was  th^s 
perhaps  the  murderer  ? 

Then  a  shriek  burst  from  the  butler's  lips 
as  he  turned  his  eyes  on  the  chair  and  saw 
wliom  he  might  have  thought  to  be  his  dead 

The  poor  wretch  gibbered  and  crouched 
back  as  the  figure  in  the  chair  rose  and 
pointed  an  accusing  finger  at  him. 

"No,  no,"  he  screamed.  "  I  didn't  name 
to  do  it— indeed  I  didn't." 

This  vvas  enough  for  the  detective  and 
the  other  watchers.  They  rushed  on  the 
cringing  fellow  and  held  him  fast. 

All  right,  I  will  confess,"  he  cried,  seeing 
that  he  had  been  outwitted  and  had  revealed 
his  guilt. 

I  didn't  mean  to  do  it.  I  swear  I  had  no 
intention  of  killing  him,  but  I  was  mad  and 
I  smashed  his  head  on  the  floor  in  my  rage." 

He  told  further  how  he  had  seen  the  two 
young  fellows  take  the  millionaire  out  of  the 
house  and  into  a  motor  car,  how  he  had 
followed  and  entered  the  deserted  house 
after  they  had  placed  the  inanimate  form 
inside  and  left.  Then  he  crept  in  and  up  to 
the  attic.  His  master  was  regaining  con- 
sciousness and  he  offered  to  release  him  if 
he  would  pay  a  large  ransom.     It  was  the 

money  he  wanted.  He  wished  his  master 
no  harm,  but  when  he  refused  his  demand 
he  became  enraged.  He  made  the  demand 
again,  and  still  the  millionaire  refused  to 
listen.  This  made  him  mad,  and  seizing  the 
bound  form  by  the  throat  he  smashed  his 
head  on  the  floor.  The  millionaire  never 
moved  again ;  and  horror-stricken  and  in 
fear,  he,  the  butler,  flew  from  the  place  and 
endeavoured  to  cover  up  all  traces  of  his 
guilt.  When  he  saw  the  well-known  form 
in  the  chair  he  thought  it  was  his  master's 
ghost,  and  broke  down  in  terror. 

The  butler's  confession  was  sufficient  for 
the  detective.  The  wretched  fellow  was 
taken  to  answer  for  his  crime. 

The  last  thing  the  detective  had  to  say  to 
the  two  young  fellows  who  had  placed  them- 
selves in  such  a  terrible  position  was  : 

"  Cut  yourselves  away  from  the  frivolities 
you  have  been  accustomed  to — they  have 
brought  you  within  shadow  of  the  gallows. 
Had  this  man  not  confessed  perhaps  you 
would  have  paid  the  penalty  of  his  crime. 
And  all  because  you  could  not  realise  the 
serious  side  of  life.  Take  my  advice,  alter 
your  ways,  and  thank  your  lucky  stars  for 
your  escape." 

Bob  Reid  and  Tom  Wilson  took  the 
advice.  They  do  not  play  cards  and  revel 
now.     They  are  serious  men. 

-r  I     u         -J  5794  i 
1  elephones  .  -j  .03^  ■ 


All  remittances  should  be  addressed  to  H.R.H.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  Buckingham 
Palace.      These  and  other  letters  to  the  Fund  need  not  be  stamped. 

national  Relief  Fund. 

Treasu,er-H.R.H.  THE   PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

\  C.   Arthur  Pearson. 
Joint  Secretaries:  \  Hedley  F.   Le  Bas. 

)  Sir  Frederick  Ponsonby.  K.C.V.O.,  C  B. 

To  the  Editor. 



Dear  Sir, 

We  regret  to  say  that  the  Subscription  Sub-Committee  of  the 
National  Relief  Fu*td  has  heard  of  a  good  many  cases  in  which  use 
has  been  made  of  its  name,  or  of  the  names  of  those  connected 
with  it,  with  the  object  of  securing  support  for  appeals  which 
are  quite  unauthorised . 

We  hope  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  permit  the  appearance  of  this 
letter,  the  object  of  which  is  to  inform  your  readers  that  they  may  be 
assured  that  any  extravagant  or  grotesque  appeals  emanate  from, 
persons  who  have  neither  the  authorisation  nor  the  support  of 
this  Committee. 

Yours  faithfully . 


Aufiust  24ih,  1914. 

Joint  Secretaries,  Subscription  Sub-Cominittee, 
National  Relief  Fund. 

The  Spirit  and  the 


From    the    VITAGRAPH   Photoplay    hy   Mrs. 

Adapted  hij  Bruce  McCall. 

Hartman    Breuil, 

Paul  'as  a  young  boy 

Paul  "Older I 

Marie   as  a  young  girl 

Marie   older » 
Gallon  ... 
Paul's  Parents 




..  DARWLV   K.\RR 






\MLLIAM   SHEA    and    K.\TE    PRICE 


Concluding  Instalment. 

lUL,  absorbed  in  his  work, 
scarcely  noticed  Doctor 
.-  —  '■  Gordon's  departare,  and  his 
^  BTg^l  patron's  passionate  outburst 
fell  on  deaf  ears.  With  the 
utter  5€lfi.=hnes-=  of  genius  he 
had  thoagfats  only  for  his  art,  and  regarded 
everything  and  everybody  only  from  one 
point  of  view — as  helps  or  hindrance  to  the 
work  into  which  he  had  thrown  his  whole 
being.  Even  his  love  for  Marie  had  dis 
appearad,  or  at  any  rate  been  thrust  into  the 
background.  She  was  no  longer  his  wife, 
the  object  of  his  hearrs  affection,  to  be 
tenderly  cherished  and  protected  ;  she  was 
merely  a  model,  indispensable  to  the  suc- 
cessful accomplishment  of  his  work.  His 
anxiety  on  account  of  her  health  had  passed 
completely  from  his  mind.  He  forgot  that 
he  had  written  to  his  father  telling  him  that 
Marie  was  coming  home  and  that  she  must 
have  absolute  rest;  and  he  imposed  upon  her 
the  mc«t  f  itiguing  task  possible — to  st^id 
for  hours  at  a  time  posing  for  the  statue 
which  he  was  convinced  was  to  make  him 
famous  as  one  of  the  world's  greatest 
sculptors.  He  accepted  her  devotion  with- 
oat  question  or  scruple,  never  giving  so  much 
as  a  passing  thought  to  the  nobility  of  her 

And  Marie,  in  her  great  love  for  him,  did 
not  breathe  a  word  of  complaint.  Hers  was 
the  love  which  gives  itself  utterly  to  the 
loved  one,  neither  asking  nor  expecting 
reward.       She   knew   that   the   work    was 

killing  her,  and  the  one  desire  of  her  heart 
was  that  the  end  might  not  come  before 
Paul  had  finished  the  model. 

The  strain  was  frightful,  and  the  pain  at 
her  heart  got  steadily  worse  and  harder  to 
bear.  Her  self-control  was  wonderful — 
heroic.  Her  great  fear  was  that  she  would 
not  be  able  to  hide  from  Paul  the  agony  she 
was  suffering,  and  she  summoned  all  her 
energies  to  preserve  a  calm  and  unmoved 
exterior,  which  was  only  disturbed  at 
intervals  when  Paul's  eyes  were  turned  for 
a  few  brief  moments  from  his  living  model 
to  the  work  growing  under  his  hands. 
Often  at  such  times  she  swayed  and  seemed 
about  to  fall,  but  she  always  made  the 
supreme  effort  and  stood  calm  and  composed 
when  her  husband's  eyes  fell  upon  her  again. 
It  was  a  wonderful  little  work  of  art  Paul 
was  creating,  instinct  with  genius  in  every 
line.  Simple  in  c-onception  even  to  austerity, 
it  had  an  arresting  beauty;  and  though  it 
was  only  a  model,  one  could  see  that  on  a 
greater  scale  it  would  be  a  nobly  impressive 
Paul  himself  was  delighted  with  it.  He 
insisted  that  Marie  should  admire  it,  and 
in  this  she  never  failed  him.  Her  praise 
was  honey  to  him,  and  he  never  guessed  that 
the  hours  thr<High  which  she  stood  on  the 
pedestal  were  for  her  a  long-drawn-out 
agony.  He  would  have  gone  on  working 
without  c-essation  if  he  could  have  done  so, 
and  he  grudged  the  time  for  necessary  food 
and  repc^e.     As  for  Marie,  so  enfeebled  and 



exhausted  was  she  by  the  close  of  her  daily 
ordeal,  that  each  evening  she  thought  it  im- 
possible to  return  to  it  on  the  following  day. 
And  every  morning  her  love  and  devotion 
won  a  new  triumph. 

face  was  very  grave,  very  sorrowful,  as  with 
uplifted  hand  he  said  : 

She  was  very  brave.    I  honour  her.    She 
has  gone  to  her  rest." 

Paul  stood  a  moment  or  two  in  silence. 

"  His  face  was  blanched  with  a  terrible  fear." 

So  the  tragedy  went  forward  without  a 
halt,  inexorably.  Paul  was  a  quick  worker. 
In  three  days  he  had  completed  his  model, 
and  Marie's  terrible  ordeal  was  over. 

Paul  stood  back  to  admire  his  work. 
There,"  he  said,  "it's  finished.  Come  here 
and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

He  was  not  looking  at  his  wife.  She  took 
a  half-step  forward,  tried  to  smile;  then  her 
face  was  contorted  in  agony,  she  put  one 
hand  to  her  heart,  swayed  a  moment,  and 
fell  with  a  crash  upon  the  floor  of  the  studio. 

Paul  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant,  his 
arms  were  round  her.  His  face  was  blanched 
with  a  terrible  fear. 

"  Marie!"  he  called  frantically.   "Marie  !" 

But  the  loving  eyes  were  closed  and  no 
answer  came. 

Then,  laying  her  tenderly  down,  Paul 
rushed  out  of  the  studio  to  summon 
Dr.  Gordon.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned 
with  him. 

A  very  brief  examination  sufficed.  Dr. 
Gordon  spared  him  all  reproachment.     His 

clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands,  his  face 
working  painfully.  Then  he  said  in  a  strange, 
hoarse  whisper : 

"  Dead  !  My  Marie  dead  !  And  I've  killed 
her.     God  forgive  me  !  " 

He  fell  upon  his  knees  and  pressed 
passionate  kisses  on  the  still,  white  face. 

Paul  was  bowed  down  with  the  weight 
of  his  sorrow  and  bitter  self-reproach.  The 
realisation  of  what  he  had  done  had  been 
overwhelming.  He  saw  now,  when  it  was 
too  late,  how  utterly  selfish  and  cruel  he  had 
been.  Marie's  face,  as  she  lay  there  in  the 
studio,  white  and  still,  was  always  before  his 
eyes.  He  could  not  shut  out  the  sight,  and 
he  felt  himself  a  murderer,  a  monster  who 
had  killed  his  wife  with  callous,  calculating 
cruelty.  He  shunned  all  human  companion- 
ship, and  sat  day  after  day  in  the  studio, 

Since  the  day  of  Marie's  funeral  he  had 
not  seen  the  model  which  had  been  the  cause 
of  the  tragedy.     It  had  been  removed  from 



the  studio,  and  he  did  not  inquire  by  whom. 

He  felt  that  he  hated  it.  Then  one  day 
he  received  a  letter  stating  that  his  model 
for  the  statue  of  Fame  had  been  awarded  the 
prize,  and  that  he  was  commissioned  to 
undertake  the  work. 

For  a  moment  he  was  puzzled,  but  after  a 
while  concluded  that  Mr.  Galton  or  Dr. 
Gordon  had  sent  the  model  to  the  committee. 
But  it  did  not  matter  now.  Nothing 
mattered.  Marie  was  dead  ;  he  had  killed 
her.  There  was  neither  work  nor  happiness 
in  life  for  him  any  more  ;  only  bitter  grief 
and  remorse.  He  crumpled  the  letter  and 
let  it  fall.  Tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  and 
groping  his  way  blindly  to  a  chair  he  sat 
down  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  his  frame 
shaking  with  heavy  sobs. 

It  was  so  that  Mr.  Galton  found  him,  and 
after  vainly  trying  to  persuade  him  to  put 
aside  his  grief  and  find  solace  in  his  work, 
the  good-hearted  director  went  away  to 
Dr.  Gordon,  to  whom  he  gave  such  an 
account  of  Paul's  state  as  to  induce  him  to 
make  an  immediate  call  at  the  studio. 

When  the  doctor  entered  with  Mr.  Galton, 
Paul  was  sitting  listlessly  in  the  chair,  on  his 
face  an  expression  of  dull,  hopeless 
misery !  In  response  to  their  greetings  he 
gave  them  an  indifferent  "  good  morning," 
betraying  no  interest  as  to  the  object  of 
their  visit. 

Dr.  Gordon  and  the  director  exchanged 
glances,  and  then  the  former,  ignoring  Paul's 
manner,  said  : 

'  I've  called  to  congratulate  you,  Mr. 
Ferrier.  Mr.  Galton  tells  me  you  have  been 
commissioned  to  do  the  statue.  It's  a  fine 
success  for  so  young  a  man.  It  means  success, 
fame — but  there,  I  always  believed  in  you." 

Paul  looked  at  him  queerly.  "  It  doesn't 
matter  now,"  he  said.  "I  shan't  do  the  work 
— I  can't." 

"  Oh,  come,"  was  the  reply,  "that's  childish. 
Of  course  you've  had  a  heavy  blow  ;  we  all 
feel  for  you  ;  but  you're  too  much  of  a  man  to 
knock  under.  Grieving  won't  bring  back  the 
past.  You  must  work,  man,  work — that's 
your  salvation." 

Paul  shook  his  head.  "  It's  no  good. 
My  career  is  ended.  I  shall  never  know 
peace  of  mind  again." 

Dr.  Gordon  turned  aside  to  Mr.  Galton. 

We  must  do  something,"  he  said  in  a 

low  voice.        This    brooding   is    the   worst 

thing   possible    for   him.       Unless    we   can 

persuade  him  to  work  and  get  him  interested 

in  it  I  fear  he  will  lose  his  reason.    Can  you 
suggest  anything  1 " 

Mr.  Galton  looked  thoughtful.  "  Well," 
he  said,  "  there's  the  model  for  the  statue. 
The  committee  sent  it  back  this  morning. 
The  sight  of  it  might  arouse  him." 

"Good.  We  can  try  it  at  any  rate.  Let's 
have  it  brought  in." 

Mr.  Galton  went  out  and  presently 
reappeared  with  two  or  three  of  the  students 
who  had  been  Paul's  particular  friends. 
They  brought  with  them  the  model. 

Paul  recognised  it  with  something  like  a 
shudder.  It  seemed  to  bring  all  the  pain  and 
tragedy  back  again.  He  turned  his  back 
upon  it,  but  Dr.  Gordon  put  a  hand  on  his 

"  It's  painful  to  you  at  first,  of  course," 
he  said  ;  "  it  is  natural  that  it  should  be  ;  but 
you  must  be  strong  and  brave.  You  owe 
something  to  the  world,  you  know,  and  you 
must  not  rob  it  of  your  talent." 

Dr.  Gordon's  urging  was  seconded  by 
Mr.  Galton,  and  the  students  too  joined  in, 
begging  Paul  to  undertake  the  work  and  not 
to  spoil  his  career. 

"  We  are  all  so  proud  of  you,  Paul," 
Mr.  Galton  put  in.  "Don't  disappoint  us 
now.  Work,  my  boy,  and  forget  your 

They  left  him  then,  and  he  sat  for  some 
time  thinking  over  all  they  had  said.  At 
last  he  rose,  got  his  materials  together,  and 
began  to  work.  But  he  could  not  concentrate 
his  attention.  His  heart  was  not  in  his  task. 
Without  the  inspiration  of  the  living  Marie 
he  soon  found  it  impossible  to  continue.  He 
surveyed  with  disgust  what  he  had  already 
done,  and  in  a  fit  of  childish  irritation  was 
about  to  destroy  it  ruthlessly  when  something 
stayed  his  hand.  Something  !  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  heard  his  wife's  voice  calling 
softly,  "Paul." 

His  heart  seemed  for  an  instant  to  stand 
still,  then  beat  hard  and  fast.  He  turned 
slowly  to  the  pedestal  on  which  Marie  had 
formerly  stood  for  so  many  weary  hours. 
She  was  there  !  It  was  Marie,  composed  and 
erect,  in  the  familial-  pose,  with  arms  out- 
stretched, in  flowing  classic  robe,  her  face 
calm  and  serene. 

He  started  forward,  but  something — her 
stillness  and  impassivity,  perhaps  something 
etheral  about  her,  arrested  his  steps.  He 
realised  that  she  was  nothing  earthly,  and 
turned  quickly  to  his  bench  and  began  to 
work  with  feverish  haste,  as  though  he  knew 



he  must  not  waste  a  moment. 

He  worked  on  and  on  like 
one  possessed.  There  was  no 
sign  of  weariness  in  his  model 
now.  Not  till  daylight  waned, 
and  shadows  were  creeping 
into  the  studio,  did  he  cease 
his  labours.  Reluctantly  he 
rose  from  his  bench,  and 
then,  hesitating,  and  with 
a  strange  look  in  his  eyes,  he 
moved  towards  Marie,  with 
yearning  arms  held  out. 

As  he  approached  she 
smiled  and  was  gone.  The 
pedestal  was  vasant.  He 
was  alone  in  the  studio — 
alone  with  a  memory. 

Paul  stood  a  moment, 
still  with  that  curious  look 
in  his  eyes,  gazing  at  the 
place  where  she  had  been. 
Then,  letting  his  arms  fall 
with  a  weary  gesture,  he 
turned  heavily  away. 

On  the  following  day  the 
miracle  was  repeated,  and 
Paul  worked  without  inter- 
mission as  long  as  daylight 
lasted  Always  as  he  rcse 
from  his  bench  she  vanished. 
Day  after  day  Marie  appeared 
with  unfailing  regularity. 
The  statue  was  taking  shape, 
growing  into  the  thing  of 
beauty  that  Paul  had  imagin- 
ed. His  face  grew  worn  and 
old-looking,  the  wild  look  in 
his  eyes  grew  wilder,  but  he  worked  day 
after  day  as  though  endowed  with  a 
strength    that  was    super-human . 

For  some  days  his  friends  left  him  alone, 
hoping  that  he  had  taken  their  kindly-meant 
advice.  The  fact  that  he  never  seemed  to 
go  outside  the  house,  however,  at  last  began 
to  cause  them  serious  anxiety,  and  Dr.  Gordon 
and  Mr.  Galton  one  day  decided  to  pay  him 
another  visit.  They  entered  the  studio  in 
the  afternoon,  and  found  Paul  hard  at  work. 
He  showed  no  pleasure  at  seeing  them, 
and  returned  only  surly  answers  to  their 

Both  were  astonished  at  the  progress 
which  Paul  had  made  with  the  work. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Galton,  "it's  wonder- 
ful; it  will  be  a  masterpiece.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Gordon  ?     How  on  earth  has  he 

He  realised  that  she  was  nothing  earthly." 

managed  to  do  so  much  work  in  the  time?" 

Dr.  Gordon  did  not  answer.  He  was 
looking  at  Paul.     His  face  was  very  serious. 

"See  here,  young  man,"  he  said,  at  last, 
"you're  working   too    hard.      You'll   make 

yourself  ill,  or "    He  did  not  finish  the 

sentence,  and  after  a  pause  he  added,  You 
must  give  yourself  a  rest.  Come  now,  put 
away  your  tools  ;  you've  done  enough  for 

Paul  looked  up  impatiently,  almost  angrily. 

"I  can't  stop,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  under- 
stand ?   I  must  work  while  my  model  is  here." 

Dr.  Gordon  started.  "Your  model! 
Where  1    What  do  you  mean  V 

Paul  threw  out  a  hand,  savagely.  *  Why, 
there  she  is — Marie  !  Can't  you  see  her  ? 
She  comes  every  day.  She  won't  stay  much 
longer.     Go   away   and    leave    us — do  you 



hear  1 "  he  cried  angrily.  '  Go  away  !  You 
are  hindering  my  work." 

"But,  my  dear  Paul,"  said "  Galton, 
soothingly,  "there's  nobody  here  but  our- 
selves.   You're  overwrought." 

Paul  paid  no  heed,  and  the  two  visitors 
gazed  at  one  another  in  consternation.  Then, 
talking  together  in  low  tones,  they  went  out 
of  the  studio.  When  Paul  looked  up  again 
he  was  alone,  and  the  pedestal  was  vacant. 

"Curse  them  !"  he  muttered.  "They've 
frightened  her.    She  will  never  come  again." 

The  thought  sent  him  into  a  frenzy,  and 
he  raged  up  and  down  the  studio,  cursing 
Galton  and  Gordon  for  their  interference. 

The  work  was  nearing  completion.  Some 
time  to-morrow  it  would  have  been  finished  ; 
and  now  they  had  spoilt  everything.  He 
ground  his  teeth  in  furious  rage. 

The  daily  wonder  of  Marie's  reappearance 
had  had  a  curious  eft'ect  upon  him.  Though, 
when  she  first  came,  he  had  known  that  she 
was  a  vision  merely,  conjured  up  by  his 
imagination  and  his  great  need  of  her,  he 
had  now  grown  so  accustomed  to  seeing  her 
in  her  place  in  the  studio  that  he  had  come 

to  feel  that  she  was  indeed  his  wife,  restored 
to  him  in  a  mysterious  manner — why,  he 
could  not  understand.  The  facts  that  she 
always  eluded  him,  vanishing  when  he  made 
any  movement  in  her  direction  ;  that  she 
never  spoke  to  him  after  the  first  time,  and 
never  gave  any  sign  of  recognition  beyond  a 
tender,  wistful  smile,  did  nothing  to  shake 
this  belief  of  his,  which  had  grown  stronger 
as  the  days  went  by.  Now  the  agitation 
caused  by  the  visit  of  Galton  and  Dr.  Gordon, 
and  his  belief  that  they  had  frightened  Marie 
away  for  ever,  was  too  much  for  him  in  his 
enfeebled,  overwrought  condition.  If  Dr. 
Gordon  had  seen  him  as  he  raged  up  and 
down  the  studio  he  would  have  known  that 
what  he  feared  had  already  come  to  pass. 

That  knowledge,  however,  was  not  long 
withheld  from  him.  After  dinner  that  even- 
ing, Dr.  Gordon,  with  Mr.  Galton  and  one 
or  two  young  people,  friends  and  fellow- 
students  of  the  young  sculptor,  were  sitting 
talking  in  the  drawing-room,  when  Paul 
rushed  in.  He  was  still  wearing  his  working 
overall,  and  they  looked  in  alarm  at  his 
contorted  face  and  wild,  staring  eyes.     He 

'On  his  face  an  expression  of  dull,  hopeless  misery." 



stopped  as  they  rose,  and  Dr.  Gordon,  who 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  began  to 
speak  soothingly. 

Why,    Paul,    my   dear   fellow,    we   are 

just '' 

Marie ! "    Ferrier    interrupted    fiercely. 
My   wife  !     Where   is  she  1     What  have 
you   done    with   her  ?      You've   taken   her 
from  me,  curse  you  !  " 

Galton  gave  an  exclamation,  but  Dr. 
Gordon  answered  kindly  but  firmly.  Calm 
yourself,  my  dear  boy.  You  must  not  excite 
yourself.  Sit  down  and  let  us  talk  it 

Paul  paid  no  heed.  Brushing  the  doctor 
aside  with  a  snarl,  he  dashed  at  the  mantel- 
shelf, seized  the  bust  which  Dr.  Gordon  had 
brought  from  him  months  before,  and 
hurled  it  to  the  floor,  smashing  it  into  a 
hundred  fragments. 

Mr.  Galton  and  the  doctor  rushed  at  him, 
securing  his  arms,  but  now  his  fury  seemed 
to  have  expended  itself,  and  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  led  quietly  to  a  chair.  He  sat 
there,  staring  straight  before  him,  a  look  of 
horror  in  his  eyes,  as  though  he  saw  some 
dreadful  thing.  When  they  spoke  to  him 
he  made  no  answer,  perhaps,  did  not  even 
hear  what  they  said.  Dr.  Gordon  left  the 
room,  returning  presently  with  a  glass  of 
some  liquid. 

"  Drink  this,  Paul,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Mechanically  the  young  man  reached  out 
his  hand  for  the  glass  and  was  about  to  put 
it  to  his  lips,  when  his  madness  returned. 

"  No  !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  won't  drink  it ! 
It's  poison  —  poison  !  I  know.  You've 
taken  Marie  away,  and  now  you  want  to 
kill  me  ! " 

His  voice  rose  to  a  scream,  horrible  to 
hear.  He  sprang  up  and  dashed  the  glass 
down  at  his  feet. 

I  want  my  wife,"  he  shouted  Marie  ! 
Marie  !  Where  are  you  1 "  Before  they  could 
stop  him  he  had  rushed  out  of  the  room  and 
out  of  the  house. 

Dr.  Gordon  and  Galton,  following  him 
home  as  fast  as  they  could,  found  the  studio 
door  locked  against  them.  To  their  repeated 
knocking  and  entreaties  that  he  would  let 
them  in,  he  replied  rationally  enough.  He 
was  all  right,  he  said,  and  they  could  come 
again  to-morrow.  He  would  not  open  the 
door  now.  With  that  they  had  to  be 
content,  and  they  went  away  somewhat 
easier  in  mind. 

All  that  night  Paul  did  not  close  his  eyes. 

When  the  first  gleams  of  daylight  entered 
the  studio  he  determined  to  try  to  work  on 
his  beloved  statue.  All  his  memory  of  what 
had  happened  on  the  previous  night  had 
passed  from  his  mind,  and  he  found  him- 
self wondering  whether  Marie  would  indeed 
return.  Without  her,  he  knew,  the  work 
would  never  be  finished.  Would  she  come  ? 
He  was  bending  over  the  bench  when  there 
came  a  sound  as  soft  as  a  sigh. 

"  Paul ! " 

He  straightened  himself  with  a  jerk.  She 
stood  there  again  on  the  pedestal,  and  she 
smiled  at  him. 

"  For  the  last  time,  Paul,"  she  whispered. 

He  nodded  happily,  and  began  to  work 
at  once.  In  a  couple  of  hours  he  had 
finished,  and  surveyed  his  work  with  pride. 
And,  indeed,  it  was  a  thing  to  be  proud  of. 
Paul's  whole  soul  at  the  moment  was  full  of 
the  pride  of  the  artist,  of  the  creator. 
Always  his  wife  had  been  second  to  that, 
and  she  was  second  now.  She  stood  looking 
at  him,  with  a  smile  in  which  tenderness, 
love  and  pity  were  blended.  She  had  given 
her  life  for  him,  and  his  need  of  her  had 
called  her  spirit  even  from  the  world  where 
spirits  dv/ell.  Now  her  self-sacrifice  was 
consummated  and  she  could  go. 

At  last  Paul  looked  up,  and  some  realisa- 
tion of  the  tremendous  debt  he  owed  her 
came  upon  him.     He  held  out  his  arms. 

"  Marie,"  he  murmured,  my  wife,"  and 
took  a  step  towards  her.  But  as  he  advanced 
she  glided  away  from  him,  slowly,  as  though 
floating  in  the  air,  towards  the  statue.  He 
stopped,  and  as  he  gazed,  still  with  out- 
stretched arms,  she  reached  it,  was  merged 
in  it.     Statue  and  model  were  one. 

For  several  minutes  Paul  stood  there, 
staring  at  the  plaster  figure  into  which  it 
seemed  to  him  to  have  entered  in  very  truth. 
He  was  as  one  dazed  by  the  wonder  of  it. 
Then,  recovering,  he  walked  unsteadily  to 
the  statue,  and  began  to  caress  its  cold, 
plaster  face,  which,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
Marie's  tender,  loving  smile  yet  lingered. 
He  spoke  to  it  softly,  crooning  words  of  in- 
coherent tenderness. 

The  door  opened  quietly,  and  Dr.  Gordon 
came  in.  He  drew  himself  up  sharply  and 
caught  his  breath.  Mr.  Galton,  who  was 
following  him,  also  stopped,  and  the  two- 
men  gazed  at  the  pitiful,  tragic  spectacle. 

"  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow,"  muttered  Dr. 
Gordon.  Then  he  walked  across  the  room 
and  put  a  hand  gently  on  Paul's  shoulder. 



'Come,  Paul,"    he  said,    "your  work  is 
finished  now.     May  Galton  and  I  see  it  1 " 

Paul  turned  and  said  quietly  enough,  but 
with  a  queer  note  in  his  voice  :  She  came 
back  to  me  this  morning.  She's  here,  in  this 
clay.  I  have  found  her,  and  with  the 
warmth  of  my  kisses  will  restore  her  to 
life."     And  he  kissed  the  statue  passionately. 

While  Dr.  Gordon  was  wondering  what 
to  say  or  do,  a  number  of  students  came 
trooping  into  the  studio.  The  sound  of 
their  voices  roused  Paul.  He  stood  a  mo- 
ment or  two  glaring  at  them  with  a  face  of 
fury,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes  was  that  of  a 
wounded  beast  at  bay.  Suddenly  he  sprang 
to  a  chair,  seized  it  with  a  shout,  and  swung 
it  above  his  head.  As  he  dashed  forward 
they  fled  before  him  in  terror.  Dr.  Gordon 
and  Mr.  Galton  were  the  last  to  go,  and 
when  he  had  banged  the  door  upon  them 
Paul  went  back  to  the  statue. 

Outside  Dr.  Gordon  and  Mr.  Galton  held 
a  consultation,  and  decided  that  the  removal 
of  the  statue  was  the  only  chance  of  saving 
Paul's  reason,  if  indeed  it  was  not  already 
too  late.  They  laid  their  plans,  and  after  a 
time  again  entered  the  studio.  Dr.  Gordon 
carried  a  decanter  of  wine  and  a  glass.  The 
wine  was  drugged. 

Paul  was  seated  in  a  chair.  The  paroxysm 
of  madness  was  over  for  the  time,  but  he 
looked  at  them  suspiciously. 

Paul,"  said  Dr.  Gordon  steadily,    I  want 
you  to  drink  this  ;  it  will  do  you  good." 

He  poured  some  of  the  wine  into  a  glass 
and  held  it  out  to  Paul,  who  hesitated,  then 
took  the  glass  and  drank  off  the  contents. 

Dr.  Gordon  watched  him  keenly.  He 
began  to  talk  very  slowly,  yawned  in  the 
middle  of  the  sentence,  became  incoherent, 
and  presently  his   eves   closed    and  he  fell 

back    in    the    chair    unconscious. 

That's    all    right,"    said    Dr.  Gordon. 

Now  let's  get  this  thing  away  before  he 
comes  round." 

Mr.  Galton  opened  the  door  and  admitted 
half  a  dozen  workmen,  who  prepared  to 
remove  the  statue.  The  drug,  however,  was 
not  so  potent  as  Dr.  Gordon  had  imagined. 
The  commotion  made  by  the  workmen 
aroused  Paul;  he  stirred,  opened  his  eyes 
and  gave  a  swift  glance  about  the  room. 
Dr.  Gordon  and  Mr.  Galton  attempted  to 
restrain  him,  but  with  a  wild  cry  he  thrust 
them  asideand  threw  himself  upon  the  statue. 
Clasping  his  arms  about  it  in  a  frenzy  he 
began  to  push  it  before  him  to  the  open 
window  of  the  studio,  looking  back  at  them 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  did  so.  By  the  time 
they  realised  what  the  madman  meant  to  do 
he  was  at  the  window.  Gordon  and  Galton 
sprang  forward  together,  but  too  late. 

Marie,  Marie,  I'm  coming ! "  he  cried 
triumphantly,  and  sculptor  and  statue  dis- 
appeared, crashing  to  the  pavement  below. 

It  seemed  an  age  before  anybody  moved 
in  the  room.  They  were  overcome  with  the 
horror  of  the  thing.  At  last  Dr.  Gordon 
leaned  from  the  window  and  looked  fearfully 
down.  Paul  lay  there  quite  still  in  the 
moonlight.  All  around  him  were  the  frag- 
ments of  the  statue  which  was  to  have  made 
him  famous. 

As  Dr.  Gordon  gazed,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  out  of  the  ruins  there  arose  a  gracious 
and  most  beautiful  vision.  It  was  as  though 
the  shattered  statue  had  come  to  life.  A  fair 
and  queenly  woman  stood  there  beckoning 
to  Paul. 

He  looked  very  peaceful  when  they  found 
him,  and  about  his  lips  there  was  a  happy 


Overflowing  with  enthusiasm  for  the  "cause,"  our  Editor,  Mr.  Fred  J.  Jones,  last  month 
laid  down  the  pen  for  the  rifle,  having  responded  to  his  country's  call. 

Looking  like  an  heroic  picture-actor  in  his  khaki  uniform,  this  worthy  son  of  Mars  one 
morning  bade  farewell — only  temporarily  we  trust  to  his  colleagues,  the  young  ladies  of  the 
staff  almost  yielding  to  tears;  and  now,  instead  of  potting  picture  plays,  he  is  out  for  "  potting  " 
the  enemy. 

We  hope  the  record  of  his  noble  deeds  (and  reproductions  of  his  numerous  medals  ?)  will 
occupy  more  than  a  four-page  supplement  in  some  future  number,  and  if  that  should  fortunately 
be  the  case,  our  regrets  at  his  departure  will  not  have  been  in  vain.  Readers  of  "PICTURE 
Stories  magazine  "  will,  we  feel  sure,  confirm  the  parting  cheers  we  gave  him  on  their 
behalf,  as  well  as  a  few  lusty  ones  of  our  own  in  wishing  him  bon  voyage. 

The  latest  news  is  that  he  is  "going  strong." 

The  Shepherder. 

Adapted  frofn  the  VICTOR  Drama  by  Owen  Garth. 

Out  in  the  West  life  is  a  big  gamble  on  the  rolling  plains, 
an  exciting  gamble  in  which  chance  plays  the  greater  part. 
Wild,  sturdy  men  of  primitive  passions :  men  who  live  for 
the  day  and  discount  the  morrow ;  violent,  gentle,  rugged, 
kindly  men,  whose  life  is  all  a  romance  of  struggle  and 
fight — these  are  of  whom  the  story  treats.  It  tells  of  the 
hatred  of  cattlemen  for  sheepmen,  and  the  sacrifice  of  a 
boy  for  his  mother's  sake.  It  is  a  hard  combat  against  pride, 
and  the  good  in  the  fellow  eventually  wins.  An  outcast, 
humiliated  by  his  erstwhile  companions,  he  still  has  the 
love  of  his  mother  and  his  sweetheart  to  support  him  in  his 
hour  of  trial — and  that  love  leads  him  aright  in  the  end. 

EFF  ALBRIGHT  let  his  head 
sink  on  his  arms.  The  dimly 
lit  room,  Albright's  special  den 
in  the  ranch  house,  was 
solemnly  still.  The  grey  head 
of  the  rancher  never  stirred. 

He  was  dreaming — a  sad  far-away  dream  of 

the  old  days  when  his  bonny  wife,  Madeline, 

filled  the  house  and  the 

surrounding        country 

with  sunlight  and  merry 

laughter.     He  had  been 

happy    in    those    days, 

as  happy  as  a  man  could 

be  ;  but  the  time  came 

when   Madeline's  spirit 

began    to    droop,     the 

loneliness    of   the    vast 

valley,  far  removed  from 

town  or  city,  only  in- 
habited by  rough  ranch- 
men, palled  on  her;  she 

hankered  after  the  gayer 

life,      the      city     from 

whence   she   had  come  ; 

and  one  evil  night  she 

had  slipped  away  with 

her  baby  boy    back   to 

the  city — no  doubt  she 

had  gone  back  there,  to 

\\\e  another  life  under 

another  name,  but  Jeff 

could  never  find  her,  and  the  years  since  had 

been  a  dreary  period  of  mourning,  marked 

by  whitening  hair  and  a  soured  temper. 
Would   she    ever   come    back  ?     Perhaps 

she  was  dead  !  JefF  had  little  hope — and  he 

was  weary,  weary  of  life  without  Madeline. 
With  a  sudden  movement  Jeff  Albright 

Mr.  J.  Warren  Kerrigan 
in  "The  Shepherder." 

threw  off  the  burden  which  weighed  him 
down,  and  jumping  to  his  feet,  turned  out 
the  light  and  sought  his  couch. 
*  *  + 

A  thin  streak  of  light  sprang  up  over  the 
eastern  hills  and  spread  rapidly  round  the 
border  line  of  the  range  ;  red  fire  followed 
in  its  wake,  and  soon  the  morning  sun,  vivid 
and  aggressive,  burst 
into  the  world.  It  out- 
lined a  lonely  rider  on 
a  distant  spur  of  the 
hills,  a  horseman  who 
sat  motionless  as  a 
statue  and  gazed  with 
eager  appreciative  eyes 
into  the  valley  now 
awaking.  Faintly  borne 
to  him  came  the  lowing 
of  the  cattle,  a  small 
band  of  horsemen 
dashed  out  from  the 
shelter  of  the  low-roofed 
house,  and  the  solitary 
rider,  with  a  shout  of 
glee,  as  if  catching  the 
exhilarating  energy  of 
the  cattle-men,  set  spurs 
to  his  horse  and  clam- 
bered down  the  ridge. 

It  was  Jack  Albright 
following  the  call  of 
his  blood.  He  had  left  his  mother  in  the 
city,  had  saddled  up  and  ridden  out  into  the 
West.  Unwittingly  he  had  stumbled  on  to 
his  father's  ranch,  but  he  had  no  idea  of  his 
father,  and  it  was  unlikely,  even  in  the 
event  of  their  meeting,  that  their  relation- 
ship   would  be  revealed,  for  old  Albright 



had  only  seen  his  son  as  a 
baby,  and  was  not  given  to 
talking  to  any  one  about  his 

Jack  Albright  made  straight 
for  the  house,  intending  to 
apply  for  a  job,  and  almost 
dashed  into  a  pretty  girl  as 
he  came  round  the  corner. 
His  horsemanship  was  revealed 
in  the  way  he  pulled  up  his 
steed  and  saluted  the  lovely 
apparition  before  him.  She 
was  indeed  fetching  in  her 
simple  dress,  and  Jack  experi- 
enced a  slight  flutter  as  he 
took  in  the  lithe  figure,  the 
fresh  tanned  face,  and  the 
mass  of  rebellious  curls. 

"  Good  morning.  Miss.  I 
trust  my  sudden  appearance 
did  not  frighten  you  1 "  he 
cried  as  the  girl  drew  back  a 
little.  "Can  you  tell  me  if  I 
can  find  the  rancher  here?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  in  the  house," 
came  the  reply  in  a  sad  voice. 

Anita  Carew  had  reason  to 
be   sad.      Her   father.    Buck 
Carew,    one    of   the    wildest 
cattlemen    for    miles  around, 
and    foreman    on    Albright's 
ranch,  had  just  died.     Anita 
had  loved  her  father  as  the 
only  person  belonging  to   her,  despite   his 
rough  wild   ways,    and  now  he   had  gone  ; 
she  was  alone,  and  broken-hearted.       Save 
for    the   people   at   the  ranch  she  had   no 
friends — her   world    began    and   ended    in 
that  valley,  and  presumably  the  remainder 
of   her   days    would    be    spent    there,    for 
Albright  had  m.ade  the  house  her  home — 
and  where  else  was  she  to  go  1 

The  sad  voice  touched  Jack's  impression- 
able heart.  He  would  have  endeavoured  to 
sympathised  with  her  there  and  then,  but  he 
had  no  right.  His  business  was  to  obtain  a 
job,  and  so  replacing  his  hat  he  left  Anita 
and  rode  up  to  the  door  of  the  house. 

Carew's  death  had  left  a  vacancy  for  a 
foreman.  Jack's  splendid  manhood  and  his 
superior  appearance  appealed  to  old  Albright, 
and  before  noon  Jack  Albright  was  in  the 
strange  position  of  being  foreman  to  his 
father  without  either  knowing  their  relation- 

Jack  rarely  met  old  Albright  in  the  days 

A  Scene  from  the  Film. 

which  followed,  but  he  made  a  point  of 
seeing  Anita  often.  Sometimes  they  rode 
out  into  the  hills  together ;  friendship 
ripened  into  love,  and  one  day  Jack  took 
his  courage  in  his  hands  and  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife. 

The  reply  was  just  what  one  expects 
from  a  woman  : 

"  But !  " 

They  were  out  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills 
sheltered  from  a  blazing  sun  by  a  few 
scrubby  trees,  which  appeared  to  be  punished 
for  intruding  themselves  into  a  grass  region. 

"But  what,  dear?  I  love  you — you 
love  me — there's  nothing  simpler,"  said 

"Yes,  but  have  you  considered?  You 
know  many  girls  in  the  town,  girls  who 
have  position,  perhaps  money.  Can  you  love 
and  marry  me  knowing  I  am  without  any- 
one in  the  world,  ignorant,  poor  and 
dependent,  and  without  knowledge,  except 
of  the  ranch?" 



"  Silly  girl !  What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 
I  love  you,  Anita  !  Isn't  that  enough  for 
everything  1 " 

"Is  it?" 

There  was  no  answer,  for  Anita  was  being 

kissed  so  passionately  that  to  speak  even  in 

protest  was  impossible — but,  as  a  matter  of 

fact,  Anita  had  no  desire  to  protest.     Later 

she  wore  a  ring  and  the  "  boys  "  knew  she 

was  affianced  to  Jack. 

*  *  * 

The  trouble  came  in  a  peculiar  manner. 
Shepherders  had  come  into  the  valley. 
What  was  more,  the  "  boss  "  had  posted  up 
a  notice  outside  the  wayside  saloon  offering 
a  fine  price  for  a  good  foreman.  The  offer 
was  tempting,  but  the  cattle  boys  treated  it 
with  contempt,  for  if  there  is  anything  a 
ranchman  detests  and  despises  it  is  sheep 
and  their  tenders.  A  shepherder  is  a 
pariah,  a  thing  for  sneers  and  the  butt  of 
ridicule — to  become  a  sheepman  is  to  lose 

In  this  manner  the  notice  outside  the 
saloon  was  received.  A  crowd  of  boys 
gathered  round  and  were  jollying"  each 
other  when  Jack  strode  into  their  midst. 

"  What's  up,  boys  ?"  he  cried  in  his  jovial 

"Going  t'  be  a  sheepman,  Jack?"  came 
the  chorus. 

"A  sheepman  !  There  are  no  sheepmen 
here,  surely." 

"  Sure  there  is.  Look  at  this  !  "  said  one, 
pointing  to  the  notice.  Jack  looked,  and 
with  a  laugh  he  tore  down  the  paper  and 
went  into  the  bar. 

The  next  day  a  letter  came  for  Jack  from 
home.  His  mother  was  ill,  she  must  undergo 
a  serious  operation  and  had  not  the  money. 
If  he  could,  would  he  help  her  ? 

The  poor  old  mother  —  of  course  he 
would  help  her.  But  could  he  ?  At  present 
he  had  not  the  money  to  send,  and  the 
need  was  pressing.  She  might  die  if  help 
was  not  immediately  forthcoming. 

Jack  groaned  in  his  agony  of  fear. 

A  vision  of  his  mother  dying  flashed 
through  his  head,  to  be  succeeded  by 
another — the  notice  offering  a  big  price  for 
a  sheep  foreman. 

A  shepherder !  No,  the  degradation 
was  too  great.  Anything  but  that.  And 
yet — he  must  have  the  money,  his  mother 
must  not  die.  She  should  not  die  if  he 
could  save  her.  Disgrace  or  no  disgrace, 
contempt  or  not,  he  would  try  the  sheep 

foreman  post.     It  was  a  sacrifice,  but  better 
anything  than  his  mother  to  die. 
*  *  + 

Jack  became  the  sheep  foreman  and  the 
money  he  sent  to  his  mother.  He  cut 
himself  from  all  who  honoured  him,  yet  he 
saved  her  life.  For  weeks  he  had  not  seen 
Anita.  What  did  she  think  of  him  now,  a 
shepherder,  whom  every  cattleman  despised 
and  distrusted  ?  So  thought  Jack  as  he 
rode  listlessly  down  to  the  saloon,  his  head 
drooping  on  his  chest. 

A  group  of  boys  watched  him  as  he  came 
up,  and  then  turned  their  backs  and  walked 
off  as  he  held  out  his  hand.  The  cattlemen 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  a  shepherder, 
and  more,  were  becoming  enraged  with  the 
presence  of  the  sheep. 

Jack's  head  sank  lower — the  debasement 

was  hard.     If  but  one  had  spoken  to  him  ! 

Jack,"  said  a  soft  voice  at  his  elbow. 

Anita !     Don't  you  despise  me  like  the 

rest  ? "     There  was  a  harsh,  bitter  note  in 

his  voice. 

"  How  could  I,  Jack  ?  I  feel  it  as  much 
as  you  do.  I  wish  I  could  soften  the  pain, 
dear.  Won't  you  trust  me  ?  Don't  you  love 
me  still  ? " 

Love  you,  you  darling,  yes  and  for  ever. 
Now  I  can  go  on.  Now  I  know  you  feel 
the  same  to  me  it  doesn't  matter  about  the 

And  the  shepherder  went  back,  with  his 
heart  uplifted  and  his  head  no  longer 
drooping,  to  find  a  message  from  his  mother 
saying  she  had  recovered  and  was  coming  to 
stay  with  him  awhile.  This  again  lightened 
his  heart — he  felt  he  had  in  the  support  of 
these  two  women  strength  to  go  forward  in 
the  face  of  any  adversity. 

+  +  * 

But  the  cattlemen  had  not  finished  with 
him  yet.  Their  hatred  of  the  sheepmen 
grew  in  intensity  as  the  thousands  of  sheep 
came  down  on  the  rich  pasture,  cropping 
where  the  grass  was  sweetest.  Isolated 
attacks  on  the  herders  began  to  take  place. 
Jack  had  his  hands  full  to  control  affairs. 
He  was  riding  out  one  evening  when  cries 
in  the  distance  attracted  him.  Spurring  in 
the  direction  of  the  sounds,  he  came  upon  a 
couple  of  cattlemen  rounding  up  and  driving 
off  the  sheep,  while  others  were  attacking 
the  herder.  He  drove  straight  at  them, 
putting  the  aggressors  to  flight  by  his 
determined  action. 

"  Gruess  we'll  'ave  to  quit  this  country, 



foreman,"  said  the  battered  herder,  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Quit  nothing,"  said  Jack,  the  light  of 
battle  in  his  dark  eye.  "  I  tell  you  if  anyone 
quits,  'twill  be  those  yonder." 

"  Reckon  they'll  try  to  drive  us  out 

"  Let  them  try.  We  should  be  able  to 
hold  our  own.  We're  going  to  hold  on,  I 
tell  you." 

"  Well,  look  out,  that's  all — they  mean 

Trouble  they  were  concocting.  The  routed 
cattlemen  went  back  with  a  tale  to  old 
Albright  of  the  attack  made  on  them  by  Jack, 
and  a  hurried  council  of  war  decided  that 
the  sheepmen  were  to  be  swept  from  the 

A  message  to  this  effect  was  sent  to  Jack, 
the  ultimatum  giving  him  till  the  next  even- 
ing to  clear  out,  lock,  stock  and  barrel.  He 
received  it  as  he  was  waiting  and  watching 
at  the  door  of  his  hut  for  the  arrival  of  his 


*  *  * 

It  was  dusk  on  the  evening  that  Jack  had 
to  leave  or  be  turned  off  the  ranch.  A  hum 
of  excitement  was  apparent  at  the  Albright 
ranch  and  a  number  of  horsemen  saddled  up 
and  set  out,  led  by  old  JefF  Albright  himself. 
Anita,  who  had  heard  of  the  ultimatum, 
watched    the    proceedings  with   misgiving. 

A  Scene  from  the  Film. 

What  if  he  should  refuse  to  leave  and  they 
shot  him  1  For  they  certainly  would  shoot 
if  there  was  any  resistance.  Fearful  for  her 
lover,  she  determined  to  warn  him  of  ap- 
proaching danger.  A  daring  rider,  no  sooner 
had  the  idea  entered  her  head  than  she  j  umped 
on  her  favourite  mount  and  galloped  off 
by  a  circuitous  route  to  warn  Jack  of  the 
cattlemen's  intentions.  Picking  her  way 
courageously  in  the  growing  darkness,  she 
was  able  to  reach  her  lover's  hut  ahead  of 
the  cattlemen.  She  dismounted  behind  the 
tiny  wooden  house  and  listened.  Voices 
could  be  heard  inside,  one  her  lover's,  one — 
a  woman's  !  What  could  it  mean  1  She — 
but  she  had  no  time  to  think — the  cattlemen 
were  coming  up  to  the  door,  and  in  giving 
way  to  suspicions  she  had  failed  in  her 
mission.  It  was  too  late  to  try  and  warn 
Jack  now.  The  cattlemen,  revolvers  in  hand, 
were  at  the  door. 

Old  Jeff  Albright  dismounted  and  thunder- 
ing at  the  door,  demanded  that  the  sheepman 
should  come  out, 

"  Come  out  and  clear  out,  you  sheepman," 
he  cried. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  two  persons 
inside  had  risen  to  their  feet,  the  one  prepared 
with  his  revolver  to  defend  himself,  the  other 
in  amazement  and  surprise. 

"That  voice,"  she  muttered.  "Jack,  that 
is  your  father's  voice.     Who  is  it,  boy  ? " 

"  It's  a  cattle- 
man, mother  dear, 
a  cattleman  who 
has  allowed  him- 
self to  be  per- 
suaded by  a  gang 
of  cowards  whom 
I  licked  the  other 
day,"  he  said, 
raising  his  voice 
so  that  those  out- 
side might  hear. 

Jack  walked  to 
the  door  and  flung 
it  open  as  the  old 
man  began  thun- 
dering his  threat 

"  You've  got  to 
clear  out  sharp," 
yelled  Jeff  Al- 
bright, as  he  saw 
Jack  framed  in 
the  doorway. 
"Sharp,  d'ye  hear] 



We're  a  crowd  and  our  guns  are  ready. 
We're  not  going  to  have  any  hanged  sheep- 
man on  this  range.     Clear  out !  " 

"  JefF  !  "  A  cry  of  joy  came  from  the  old 
woman.        Jeff — my  Jeff." 

"  Madeline — you  !  What  are  you  doing 
in  this  sheepman's  hut?" 

"  The  sheepman's  your  son,  Jeff,  our  son, 
our  little  Jack." 

"What!  "  shrieked  the  old  man,  amazed 
in  his  turn. 

"  Yes,  Jeff",  my  boy,  our  Jack."     She  was 

appealing  now.      "  I  have  been  ill,  Jeff ;  he 
has  done  this  to  save  my  life." 

Cattle  feuds  were  forgotten  in  the  joy  of 
reunion.  For  Jeff — his  Madeline  had  come 
back  to  him.  And  there  was  his  son,  this 
fine,  daring  specimen  of  humanity — a  chip  of 
the  old  block.  Anita  crept  into  Jack's  arm.s 
as  his  mother  sank  her  head  on  her  husband's 
shoulder,  and  it  was  a  wondering  band  of 
cowboys  who  wandered  back  to  the  Albright 
ranch  house  that  night. 

A  FILM  adaptation  of  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim's 
novel,  "  The  Master  Mummer,"  will  be 
produced  by  the  Edison  Company,  and 
Mary'  Fuller  will  appear  in  the  triple  role  of 
Princess  Isobel,  her  daughter  and  cousin.  Mr. 
Oppenheim  is  a  well-known  writer  of  fiction 
who  possesses  a  very  admirable  gift  of  telling 
stories  of  absorbing  interest  and  constructing 
ingenious  plots  in  which  are  woven  attractive 
characters.  The  production  will  be  given  in 
five  reels. 

MISS  LILIAN  GISH,  of  the  Majestic  Com- 
pany, is  a  young  woman  who  believes  in 
using  every  spare  moment  of  her  time  to 
the  best  possible  advantage.  She  is  a  keen 
student  of  literature,  with  Shakespeare  and 
Tennyson  among  her  chief  favourites.  When 
she  leaves  her  home  each  morning  Miss  Gish 
always  carries  one  or  more  books  tucked  under 
her  arm.  As  she  waits  in  her  dressing-room 
at  the  studio  or  about  the  stage  waiting  the 
call  of  the  director  to  play  her  part  before  the 
camera  she  applies  herself  diligently  to  her  work 
of  reading.  The  writings  of  the  average  popular 
shallow  novelist  have  no  place  in  her  affections. 

"pVONALD  CRISP  is  one  of  the  most  versatile 
-■-^  of  the  actors  associated  with  the  Reliance 
stock  companies.  He  plays  anything  from 
the  youthful  hero  to  the  villain,  and  makes  an 
equally  good  Western  sheriff  or  convincing  sailor 
or  society  man.  Mr.  Crisp  was  for  some  years 
with  Cohan  &  Harris,  appearing  in  "  The  Yankee 
Prince,"  "  The  Little  Millionaire,"  and  other  pro- 
ductions of  that  organisation.  He  worked  with 
D.  W.  Griffith  at  the  Biograph  Co.  before  joining 
the  Reliance,  and  has  appeared  in  "The  Battle 
of  the  Sexes,"  "The  Escape,"  "Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  and  other  of  the  big  "Griffith"  features, 
in  parts  of  widely  varying  characters.  He  finds 
time  to  produce  films  as  well  as  to  act,  and  "The 
Newer  Woman,"  one  of  his  productions  for 
Reliance,  will  be  shortly  shown  in  London. 

"IY/TANAGER  JOSEPH  SHEAR,  of  Solax  and 
-*■"-'-  Blache  Features,  has  returned  from 
Mexico  with  Director  Harry  Schenck, 
and  a  large  company  of  Solax  players,  including 
Miss  Vinnie  Burns.  Miss  Burns  proudly  exhibits 
a  bullet  which  ploughed  up  the  ground  within 
three  feet  of  her,  passing  between  her  horse  and 
the  horse  of  Mr.  Schenck,  who  rode  beside  her. 

The  company  entered  Mexico  by  way  of  Eagle 
Pass,  Texas,  and  made  their  way  under  a  strong 
guard  furnished  by  General  Francisco  Murguia, 
of  Villa's  army  to  Monclova.  They  not  only 
succeeded  in  getting  motion  pictures  of  the 
Battle  of  Monclova,  but  also  several  hundred 
feet  of  film  showing  the  departure  of  trains  loaded 
with  troops  bound  for  Mexico  City,  where  the 
decisive  battle  of  the  M^ar  is  in  preparation.  The 
stories  they  tell  of  the  terrible  sights  they  were 
compelled  to  witness  easily  explains  the  fact 
that  no  other  motion  picture  company  has 
ventured  into  the  same  locality. 

CONSTANCE  BENNETT,  who  plunged  into 
the  icy  waters  of  the  East  River  from  the 
Williamsburg  Bridge,  for  the  Blache 
feature,  "Fighting  Death,"  has  also  qualified  as 
the  first  woman  steeplejack  by  climbing  to  the 
gilded  ball  on  the  top  of  the  Equitable  Trust 
Building,  New  York  City. 

Although  still  in  her  teens.  Miss  Bennett,  who 
is  a  pupil  of  Rodman  Law,  the  pastmaster  of 
daredevih-y,  has  probably  performed  more  hair- 
raising  feats  than  any  woman  in  the  world's 
history.  In  the  four-reel  picture,  "Fighting 
Death,"  she  is  seen  in  two  of  her  most  sensational 
performances — the  leap  from  the  great  bridge, 
in  which  she  was  accompanied  by  Rodman  Law, 
and  the  plunge  on  horseback  from  a  58-foot  cliff 
into  the  ice-fringed  waters  of    Ausable  Chasm. 

The  perils  of  the  horseback  leap  were  increased 
by  the  fact  that  the  horse  bore  two  riders — Miss 
Bennett  and  Rodman  Law — and  the  thermometer 
registered  zero. 

<|f    We  have  secured  from   the  Jesse  L.  Lasky  Feature  Play  Company,  of 
New  York,  the  exclusive  British  rights  for  insertion  of  their  pictures 
in  novelette  form  in  the  "Picture  Stories  Magazine." 

The  public  are  not  yet  familiar  with  the  above  Company's  productions, 
but  we  assure  our  readers  of  their  sterling  value. 

We  commence  with  "  Brewster's  Millions,"  which  will  be  followed  by 
many  others  of  equal  merit. — Ed. 

Brewster's  Millions. 


Adapted  from  the  Photoplay  Production  of  the  JESSE  L.  LASKY 
Feature  Play  Cotnpany  by  Edna  Rose  Cox. 

EDWARD      ABELES      AS      "  MONTY      BREWSTER." 

Instalment  I. 

Chapter  I. 

SONTY  BREWSTER  was  a  bank 
clerk.  There  were  those  who 
said  that  he  wasn't  much  of  a 
bank  clerk,  and  that  if  bis 
gi-andfather  had  not  been 
president  of  the  bank  he  would 
have  had  to  get  out  and  look  for  another 
job,  with  fair  prospects  of  landing  in  the 
street-cleaning  department.  But,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  a  perfectly  good  clerk,  and  he 
managed  to  do  his  work  and  enjoy  life  as 
well.  Some  time,  it  was  generally  under- 
stood, Monty  was  going  to  be  rich.  Obvi- 
ously, however,  that  time  was  not  to  come 
in  the  lifetime  of  old  Edwin  Peter  Brewster. 
But  Monty  did  not  let  that  worry  him. 

He  was  on  terms  of  friendship,  but  not  of 
intimacy,  with  his  grandfather.  Too  easy- 
going to  cherish  resentment,  Monty  still 
could  not  quite  forget  that  his  grandfather 
had  never  forgiven  his  father  for  his  marri- 
age— that  Monty's  mother  had  not  been 
considered  good  enough  to  marry  into  the 
Brewster  family.  So,  though  he  might 
have  been  able  to  live  with  the  old  man  and 
•enjoy  a  good  many  of  the  luxuries  of  life,  he 
preferred  to  go  his  own  way  and  live  on  the 
small  salary  that  the  bank  paid  him. 

It  is  well  to  get  an  idea  of  Monty  at  this 
time.  Picture  him  just  about  to  celebrate 
his  twenty-fifth  birthday  ;  not  bad  looking  ; 
easy-going  and  careless  in  his  views  ;  always 
leady  to  take  the  path  of  least  resistance. 

Nothing  worried  him,  because  he  would  not 
allow  anything  to  have  that  effect  on  him. 
In  short,  he  was  a  good  deal  like  a  great 
many  thousand  young  fellows  of  his  age. 

A  common  bond  had  endeared  him  especi- 
ally to  one  group  of  young  fellows.  They 
had  formed  a  club,  of  a  sort,  and  they  called 
themselves  the  "Little  Sons  of  the  Rich." 
All  of  them  were  poor  ;  all  of  them  had 
prospects.  These  prospects  were  indefinite, 
like  Monty's.  His  grandfather  had  no  other 
heir,  but,  as  Monty  used  to  say,  You 
never  can  tell — he's  just  as  likely  to  leave 
his  money  to  a  home  for  indigent  cats." 

This  was  the  Monty  Brewster,  then,  who 
was  helped  to  celebrate  his  twenty-iifth 
birthday  by  the  other  Little  Sons  of  the 
Rich.  They  all  liked  him.  Therefore  they 
were  glad  that  he  had  a  birthday.  And  fate 
so  willed  affairs  that  it  was  just  as  the  feast 
was  about  to  end  that  an  old  servant  came 
to  Monty  with  the  news  that  his  grandfather 
was  dead. 

It  is  a  fitting  moment  at  which  to  begin 
the  story  of  Monty  Brewster  and  his  millions. 
For  the  old  man's  death  removed  Monty 
froni  the  class  of  those  who  had  prospects. 
No  longer  had  he  to  look  forward  to  a 
distant  day  when  he  might  be  wealthy.  For 
a  considerable  part  of  the  old  man's  fortune, 
a  million  dollars,  was  left  to  him,  without 
restrictions  of  any  sort.  It  was  his  to  do 
with  as  he  liked.  He  was  no  longer  a  Little 
Son  of  the  Rich — he  was  rich  himself. 

Nor  had  he    to  wait  indefinitely   for  the 



*' '  Seven  million  dollars  !'  Monty  said.      '  Good  Heavens  !  it  makes  my  million  look  like  chicken-feed.'  " 


moijcy  while  legal  tangles  were  straightened 
out.  On  the  twenty-sixth  of  September, 
three  days  after  his  birthday,  the  executor 
for  the  estate  handed  him  a  bulky  envelope 
that  still  seemed  ridiculously  small,  for  it 
contained  securities  of  the  most  gilt-edged 
sort,  to  the  total  value  of  one  million  dollars. 

Chapter  II. 

SIMPLY  can't  believe  it,  Peggy- 
there  isn't  so  much  money  in  the 
world  !  " 
So  said  Monty  Brewster.  He  was  talking 
to  Peggy  Gray.  In  some  sort  a  relation, 
she  was  more — she  was  Monty's  dearest 
friend.  He  had  lived  most  of  his  life  with 
the  Grays.  Mrs.  Gray  had  mothered  him 
after  the  death  of  his  own  parents,  and  he 
and  Peggy  had  grown  up  together  like 
brother  and  sister.  Now  he  was  back,  for 
a  visit,  in  the  house  that  had  been  his  home. 
Since  his  grandfather's  death  he  had  been 
staying  in  the  gloomy  old  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue  ;  getting  back  to  the  Grays'  was  like 
a  breath  of  country  air. 

You'll  soon  convince  yourself  that  there 
is,  Monty,"  laughed  Peggy.  "I  only  hope — 
Monty,  don't  be  angry.  But  mother  and  I 
have  worried  a  little — we  couldn't  help  it. 

You're  not  going  to  spend  your  money 
foolishly,  are  you — as  so  many  young  fellows 
do  when  they  grow  rich  as  suddenly  as  this?' 
I'm  going  to  have  a  good  time  !  "  said 
Monty,  with  determination.  "  If  that's 
foolish,  why,  I'm  going  to  be  foolish  !  But, 
no,  Peggy — I'm  not  going  to  be  just  a  waster, 
if  that's  what  you  mean.  And  I  can  tell 
you  the  first  thing  I'm  going  to  do-  I'm 
going  to  see  that  you  and  your  mother  get 
some  enjoyment,  too !  That's  one  reason 
I'm  so  glad.  Peggy  !  What's  the  matter 
with  you  1 " 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
'  I  knew  you  were  going  to  say  something 
like    that — we    both    did,"    she    answered. 

But,  Monty,  dear,  can't  you  see  that  we 
mustn't  take  anything  from  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

''Monty — we  just  can't!  We've  never 
let  anyone  help  us — we've  always  taken  a 
pride  in  getting  along  by  ourselves.  We've 
got  to  keep  on  doing  that." 

It's  absurd,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 

But  his  arguments  failed  to  move  her, 
and,  moreover,  she  made  him  promise  not 
even  to  mention  the  subject  to  her  m^other. 

"  Well — I'll  do  as  you  say,"  he  yielded  at 
last,  grumbling.     "  But  I  think  it's  mighty 



small  business,  Peggy !  Here  I've  been 
looking  forward  to  making  things  easier  for 
you — and  you  spoil  half  my  joy  in  getting 
the  money." 

You'll  see  I'm  right,  Monty,"  she  said. 
Then,     "  Oh,   I    almost    forgot  !       Monty, 
there's   a   letter    here  for   you  from    some 
lawyers.     It  came  this  morning." 
He  threw  up  his  hands. 

More  trouble  !  "  he  said.  Peggy,  half 
the  people  in  New  York  are  sitting  up  nights 
trying  to  figure  some  way  to  get  this  money 
from  me  !  This  is  a  new  dodge.  Let's 
see  it." 

But  as  he  read  the  letter  from  Grant  and 
Ripley,  one  of  the  oldest  and  n-.ost  respected 
law  firms  in  the  city,  Monty  whistled. 

I  guessed  wrong  on  this  ! "  he  said. 
It's  another  will — looks  as  if  someone  had 
left  me  more  money.  It's  my  uncle— Old 
James  T.  Sedgwick,  my  mother's  brother. 
You've  heard  of  him — the  one  who  always 
hated  my  grandfather  so  bitterly  !  " 

More  money  !  Well,  it  never  rains  but 
it  pours  !  "  said  Peggy.  "Monty,  you  must 
go  at  once  to  see  about  it !  " 

Chapter  III. 

THE    next     day     Monty,     staggered, 
bewildered,  dazed  by  what  Mr.  Grant, 
the  lawyer,  had  just  told  him,  stared 
at  the  attorney  in  the  book-filled  office. 

Seven  million  dollars !  "  he  said.  Good 
heavens  !  It  makes  my  million  look  like 
chicken-feed,  doesn't  it  1  But  why — why  in 
the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  have  I  got 
to  be  penniless  to  get  itT' 

"  Those  are  the  conditions  named  in  the 
will,"  said  Mr.  Grant.  "  I  happen  to  be  able 
to  explain.  Mr.  Swearengen  Jones,  executor 
of  the  will,  and  your  late  uncle's  partner  in 
the  mining  ventures  in  which  they  made 
their  fortunes,  has  told  me  of  the  case.  Mr. 
Sedgwick  hated  your  late  grandfather,  Mr. 
Brewster.  He  did  not  wish  you  to  owe 
anything  to  the  late  Mr.  Brewster.  And 
perhaps  he  liked  the  idea  of  the  task  im- 
posed upon  you.  For  you  will  not  find  it 
easy  to  spend  a  million  dollars  as  the  will 
directs " 

*'  Won't  U  "  said  Monty.     "I  think " 

Let  me  go  over  the  conditions  again, 
Mr.  Brewster.  On  the  twenty-third  of  next 
September,  your  twenty-sixth  birthday,  you 
are  required  to  prove  yourself  penniless, 
except  for  the  clothes  you  are  wearing.  You 
mustprovetotheexecutorthatyou  are  shrewd 

and  able  to  look  after  your  business  affairs' 
You  must  give  sparingly  to  charity,  and 
make  no  endowments.  You  must  neither 
give  nor  lend  money  to  your  friends.  You 
must  not  be  dissipated.  And  you  must 
possess,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  no  assets, 
either  visible  or  invisible  !  " 

"  Well,  I  still  think  it's  easy  !  And  who 
wouldn't  trade  one  million  for  all  that  cash? 
It  makes  me  dizzy  to  think  of  it." 

"  Don't  be  hasty,"  said  Mr.  Grant.  I  do 
not  know  what  Mr.  Jones  will  require,  but 
I  think  he  will  want  you  to  keep  an  expense 
account,  and  show  some  sort  of  voucher  for 
the  money  you  spend.  And,  by  the  way, 
here  is  another  point.  You  remember  that 
you  must  take  no  one  into  your  confidence  ? 
You  cannot  get  help  by  explaining  to  your 
friends  what  you  have  to  do." 

'  By  Jove — maybe  it  won't  be  so  easy, 
after  all !  Won't  you  wire  Mr.  Jones  and 
ask  him  to  explain  his  understanding  of  the 
conditions,  Mr.  Grant  1 " 

"  Yes — a  good  idea.  Come  in  to-morrow 
and  I'll  tell  you." 

So,  still  dazed,  Monty  left  him.  All  day 
and  most  of  the  night  he  was  figuring  on  his 

"I'll  have  to  spend  an  average  of 
$2,081.12  a  day,"  ho  reckoned.  "  And  all 
the  time  the  bank  will  be  paying  me  interest — 
I'll  have  to  get  rid  of  that  too.  I  can  see 
that  I've  got  to  work  on  a  schedule.  I 
wonder  what  Jones  will  figure  as  legitimate 
ways  of  spending  money  !  " 

In  the  morning  he  went  to  the  lawyer's 
office  again. 

"  Did  Jones  answer  1 "  he  asked. 

"  He  did — ^and  prepaid  the  tolls  on 
his  message,  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  ! "  said 
Grant  with  a  laugh.  "  Here's  the  most 
important  part  of  his  telegram  :  Here  are 
the  rules  I  want  him  to  work  under: 
(1)  No  reckless  gambling;  (2)  no  idiotic 
Board  of  Trade  speculation  ;  (3)  no  endow- 
ments to  institutions,  because  their  memory 
would  be  an  invisible  asset ;  (4)  no  indis- 
criminate giving  away  of  money  ;  by  that  I 
don't  mean  him  to  be  stingy  ;  (5)  no  more 
than  ordinary  dissipation  ;  I  hate  a  saint — 
so  did  J.  T.  S.;  (6)  no  excessive  donations 
to  charity.'  " 

"  Whew  !  "  said  Monty,  rubbing  his  fore- 
head. "  He's  going  to  hold  me  right  up  to 
the  line,  isn't  he  ? " 

Grant  made  no  comment. 

"  It'sabig  gamble !"  said  Monty,  suddenly 



"Mr.  Sedgwick  hated  your  late  grandfather." 

But  I'm  going  to  try  it !  I  may  throw 
away  my  million  and  then  lose  the  rest — 
but  I'll  take  the  chance." 

"  I  wish  you  luck,  Mr.  Brewster,"  said 
Grant.  And,  take  my  advice — start  at 
once  !  " 

Chapter  IV. 

THAT  was  good  advice.     Monty  knew 
it,    and    proceeded    to    put   it   into 
I  don't  know  any  better  spenders  than 
the   Little  Sons   of    the   Rich,"   he  mused. 
The  only  trouble  is  that  they've  never  had 
enough  to  spend." 

So  he  gathered  them  about  him. 
I'm  going  to  make  my  money  work  !  " 
he  told  them.  "  I'm  going  to  need  a  lot  of 
help.  You  boys  go  on  the  pay-roll.  Harri- 
son, you're  going  to  be  my  superintendent. 
Gardner,  you're  to  be  my  financial  secretary. 
Joe  Bragdon,  I  want  you  for  private  secre- 
tary. Smith,  you're  a  lawyer.  I'll  make  you 
my  personal  counsel.  Pettingill,  you  get 
busy  with  Harrison.  I  want  the  finest 
apartment  in  town — and  you're  to  decorate 
it  after  old  Nopper  Harrison  picks  it  out." 

Monty's  career  as  a  spender  began  nobly. 
Harrison,  however,  couldn't  please  him  with 
the  apartments  he  selected — they  were  too 
cheap.  Monty  picked  one  out,  in  the  end, 
at  $23,000  a  year— it  was  really  $24,000, 
but  Harrison  saved  $1,000  by  paying  the 
rent  in  advance,  for  which  he  got  no  thanks 
With  Pettingill's  help  he  bought  wonder- 
ful hangings  and  furnishings,  and  pictuies 
that  great  collectors  wanted.     But  he  made 

private  arrangements  with  all  the  dealers  to 
take  back  everything  he  bought  at  a  fixed 
valuation  at  any  time  within  a  year — re- 
membering that  he  must  own  none  of  these 
things  when  he  made  his  final  report  to 
Swearengen  Jones.  He  could  buy  them, 
pay  well  for  their  use — and  then  worry  as 
to  how  to  get  rid  of  the  money  that  would 
come  back  to  him  when  he  turned  them 
back  to  the  dealers.  Still,  he  was  accom- 
plishing something.  For  his  dining-room, 
for  example,  Pettingill  urged  a  gorgeous 
screen  of  favrile  glass,  to  soften  the  over- 
head lights.  It  cost  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  and  the  dealers  would  pay  only  nine 
thousand  to  get  it  back. 

It  was  on  that  scale  that  he  bought  things. 
Nopper  Harrison  and  the  rest  were  worried. 

''  I  know  he's  a  millionaire — but  he  won't 
be  one  long  at  this  rate  ! "  said  Harrison. 
"  Hang  it — it's  rotten  to  see  the  old  chap  ! 
He's  spending  his  money  like  a  drunken 
sailor — doesn't  seem  to  realise  that  he 
hasn't  got  a  bottomless  purse.  And  this 
dinner — he's  going  to  try  to  outdo  all  the 
Sunday  paper  stories  of  New  York  luxury. 
That's  Mrs.  Dan  de  Mille  -  well,  you  know, 
she's  a  good  sort,  but  I  don't  see  why  she 
should  be  spending  Monty's  money." 

"  Monty's  grateful  to  her  for  doing  it," 
said  Bragdon.  "  She's  one  of  the  real  society 
people,  and  he  says  she  can  give  tone — 
whatever  that  is — to  these  dinners  he's 
planning  to  give  !     Gold  plates — what  rot  !  " 

"  He'll  ease  up  pretty  soon,  I  suppose," 
said  Harrison.  '  It's  up  to  us  to  see  that 
he  does,  anyhow.     We're  his  friends;  we'll 



have  to  keep  our  eyes  open  and  try  to  stop 
him  from  spending  his  money  too  foolishly." 

Monty  himself  began,  about  this  time,  to 
have  other  things  than  the  spending  of 
money  to  bother  him.  His  new  found 
wealth  had  introduced  nim  to  social  circles 
in  which  there  had  been  no  room  for  a  bank 
clerk,  even  one  whose  grandfather  was 
E.  P.  Brewster.  Up  to  this  time  Monty 
had  never  even  fancied  himself  in  love. 
Peggy  Gray  had  been  almost  the  only  girl 
of  his  acquaintance,  and  the  idea  that  he 
might  fall  in  love  with  Peggy  would  have 
made  him  laugh.  She  was  like  another 
man — his  feeling  for  her  was  that  of  a 
brother.  He  was  fonder  of  her  than  of 
anyone  he  knew,  but  it  was  the  fondness  of 

But  now  he  was  seeing  Barbara  Drew  on 
terms  of  equality  that  fairly  dazzled  him. 
He  had  known  her,  in  a  distant  way,  for  a 
long  time.  Now  they  met  in  an  entirely 
different  way.  It  wasn't  his  money,  for  the 
Drews  were  not  poor  themselves.  It  was 
only  that  his  money  enabled  him  to  move 
in  her  circle,  and  so  to  see  more  of  her. 

And  it  angered  him  that  he  must  make 
himself  seem  a  fool  in  her  eyes — for  he 
understood  perfectly  that  people,  seeing  him 
in  the  act  of  burning  up  a  million   dollars 

without  any  knowledge  of  his  reasons,  were 
going  to  think  him  crazy  or  worse.  He 
couldn't  confide  in  Barbara — the  terms  of 
the  will  forbade  that.  And  she  seemed 
already  disposed  to  favour  a  little  English 
nobleman,  the  Duke  of  Beauchamp.  What 
would  she  think  of  him  ?  And  how  could 
he  take  the  time  he  should  to  court  her 
when  he  needed  all  his  time  to  spend  his 
money  ? 

Finally  a  brilliant  idea  came  to  him.  He 
telegraphed  to  Jones,  asking  if  he  couldn't 
marry  and  turn  his  property  over  to  his 

"That's  not  giving  it  away,"  he  told 
himself.  'He  ought  to  fall  for  that  all 

Then,  as  if  the  whole  matter  was  settled, 
he  went  off  to  find  Peggy  Gray.  He  had  to 
confide  in  someone — ^and  who  should  be  able 
to  sympathize  with  him  but  Peggy?  And 
when  he  saw  her,  Peggy,  with  a  laugh, 
started  to  rally  him  about  Barbara  ? 

'  I  hear  all  sorts  of  tales  about  you, 
Monty,"  she  said.  If  they're  true,  you're 
to  be  envied.  Barbara  Drew  is  a  charming 

She  had  teased  him  before,  only  to  draw 
indignant  denials.  She  rather  liked  that, 
and  now,  when  she  saw  him  flush  and  look 

"  He  had  bought  an  imported  automobile;  and  deliberately  stalled  the  oar  one  day  in  the 
path  of  an  oncoming  freight  train." 



away  from  her,  Peggy  felt  a  sharp  little 
pain.  Had  she  struck  nearer  home  than  she 
supposed  1  Peggy,  somehow,  couldn't  con- 
ceive of  Monty  in  love ;  Monty  getting 
married  ;  Monty  ceasing  to  be  the  friend 
and  playmate  she  had  always  known. 

I — guess— I — oh,  Peggy — I  hope  they 
are  true  !  "  he  burst  out,  finally.  "  Don't 
tease  me,  Peggy.  Do  you  think  I've  got  a 
chance  ? " 

For  a  moment  Peggy  had  to  turn  away. 
This  was  something  she  had  never  dreamed 
of.  At  first  a  fierce  little  jealousy  burned 
in  her,  and  then  she  caught  herself.  Of 
course,  she  didn't  care  for  Monty  that  way  ; 
he  was  just  a  dear  fellow  and  a  good  friend — 
a  big  brother. 

'  A  chance  V  she  said  finally,  indignantly. 
'  Monty,  what  girl  wouldn't — oh,  well — yes, 
I  think  you've  got  a  chance." 

'I — by  George — I  hope  you're  right," 
said  Monty.  "  But  a  girl  like  that,  Peggy — 
why — oh,  she  won't  look  at  me ." 

Have  you  asked  her  yet  1 " 

No — but  I'm  going  to  to-night !  Wish 
me  luck,  won't  you,  Peggy  1 " 

Of  course  I  do,"  said  Peggy,  and  thought 
she  meant  it. 

She  cheered  Monty  up  wonderfully,   so 

much  so  that  he  could    even  laugh  at  the 

telegram  he  found  from  Swearengen  Jones  : 

Stick  to  your  knitting,  you  damned 

fool.  S.  Jones." 

Chapter  V. 

BEFORE  Monty  proposed  to  Barbara 
Drew,  as,  despite  Jones'  telegram,  he 
meant  to  do,  he  had  a  little  business 
to  transact.  He  had  discovered  a  new  way 
of  spending  money  that  appealed  to  him 
mightily,  because  it  seemed  to  him  that 
Jones  would  approve  of  it.  Two  local 
prizefighters  were  to  engage  in  a  match  that 
night,  and  because  one  was  a  champion,  he 
was  a  favourite  at  long  odds.  So  Monty 
immediately  commissioned  Nopper  Harrison 
to  bet  all  he  could  get  down  against  the 
favourite.     Nopper  protested,  but  in  vain. 

Your  man  hasn't  got  a  chance  !  "  he  said, 

That's  all  you  know,"  said  Monty. 
"  Maybe  I've  got  a  tip." 

Just  before  he  went  to  see  Barbara, 
Harrison  called  him  up. 

I  placed  three  thousand — at  5  to  1,"  he 

Was  that  the  best  you  could  do  1 "  asked 

Monty.      "  Shucks,  I  thought  you  could  lay 
at  least  ten  thousand.     All  right." 

He  had  asked  Barbara  for  an  appointment 
by  telephone,  and  she  had  been  very 
gracious  in  granting  it.  Probably  she  knew 
what  he  wanted  ;  indeed,  she  would  have 
been  less  than  observant  had  she  not. 
Monty  had  been  wearing  his  heart  on 
his  sleeve  for  days  and  weeks.  And 
a  more  experienced  man  than  Monty, 
seeing  Barbara,  would  have  suspected  that 
she  knew  just  about  how  she  meant  to 
receive  his  proposal.  Even  the  room  seemed 
set  for  the  occasion.  And  yet  he  left  her 
without  having  persuaded  her  to  become 
engaged  to  him.  That  was  his  fault.  He 
did  not  urge  her  enough. 

'  Monty,  you  must  give  me  time  ! "  she 
had  said,  gently,  in  answer  to  his  impetuous 

And,  to  her  surprise,  he  had  been  all 

As  much  as  you  want — as  long  as  you 
tell  me  there's  a  chance — that  there's  no  one 
else  now  !  "  he  said. 

That  was  not  what  she  wanted  at  all,  and 
he  ought  to  have  known  it.  She  wanted  to 
be  urged ;  to  be  swept  away. 

"  I  do  like  you — and  there  is  certainly  a 
chance,  Monty,"  she  told  him.  "But — can't 
you  wait  a  little  ?  " 

And  he  had  promised  to  wait.  There 
were  tears  of  vexation  in  her  eyes  when  he 
left  her.  But  Monty  was  happy.  It  had 
been  an  effort  to  nerve  himself  up  to  the 
point  of  proposing  to  her  at  all;  he  rather 
welcomed  the  respite  she  gave  him. 

"  She  didn't  turn  me  down  cold,  anyhow," 
he  told  himself,  "and  that's  something." 

He  reached  the  scene  of  the  prizefight 
late,  but  Nopper  Harrison  had  held  a  ring- 
side seat  for  him. 

"  Say — it's  a  great  fight  !  "  said  Nopper, 
enthusiastically.  "  Our  man's  been  holding 
him  in  fine  style.  Look — here  they  come 
for  the  fifth  round." 

And  less  than  two  minutes  later,  Monty, 
with  a  groan,  saw  the  man  he  had  backed 
slip  in  a  blow  that  knocked  the  champion 
out  and  enriched  Monty  by  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  !  Not  only  that — he  still  had  the 
original  three  thousand  ! 

"  I  won't  undertake  to  advise  you  any 
more  ! ''  said  the  amazed  Nopper.  '  It's  the 
biggest  reversal  of  form  in  years — all  the 
sharps  say  so  !  Where  did  you  get  that  tip, 
Monty  1 " 



You've  made  a  clear  hundred  thousand — or  will  have,  before  the  closing  !  '  said  Gardner. 
'  Monty,  I  take  oft'  my  hat  to  you  ! '  " 

Oh — chap  I  know,"  said  Monty.  "  Here 
— give  the  Kid  a  thousand,  he's  earned  it." 
But  Monty  had  some  good  luck.  Despite 
the  reverse  caused  by  the  unfortunate  out- 
come of  the  prizefight,  his  ledger  showed 
that  he  was  doing  well.  This  ledger  he 
kept  himself,  and  no  one  else  ever  saw  it. 
It  had  columns  for  profit  and  loss,  but  what 
most  men  Avould  call  losses  were  Monty's 
profits.  And  after  one  of  his  extravagant 
dinner  parties,  which  had  become  the  talk 
of  the  town,  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
came  to  him.  He  and  his  guests  had  just 
left  the  dining-room  when  there  was  a 
terrific  crash.  Startled  and  dismayed,  they 
rushed  back — to  see  the  table,  with  its 
beautiful  china,  a  mass  of  wreckage,  under 
what  was  left  of  the  twenty-thousand  dollar 
screen  from  the  ceiling  !  It  had  broken 
loose  in  some  fashion. 

Thank  Heaven  !  "  said  Monty,  devoutly. 

What?"  asked  Barbara  Drew,  sharply. 

That  we  had  left  the  table,  I  mean,  of 
course,"  said  Monty.  "  Suppose  we  had 
been  there  ! " 

His  explanation  was  accepted — and  that 
night  he  entered  an  item  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars  on  the  right  side  of  his  ledger.  The 
screen   was    now   so  much  clear   loss — the 

dealer  could  not  take  back  its  fragments. 
Chapter  VI. 

BUSY  times  followed  for  Monty.  To 
keep  up  his  average  of  spending  grew 
more  and  more  difficult.  At  first  it 
was  comparatively  simple  to  do  it,  but  soon 
he  had  bought  all  the  things  he  could  find 
an  excuse  for  wanting.  He  was  well  ahead 
of  his  average,  but  he  could  see  arid  days 
coming,  in  which  he  wouldn't  spend  more 
than  a  hundred  dollars  or  so,  unless  he 
devised  some  new  extravagance.  He  had 
bought  an  imported  automobile,  and  deliber- 
ately stalled  the  car  one  day  in  the  path  of 
an  oncoming  freight  train,  which  reduced  its 
value,  in  about  five  seconds,  from  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  to  fifteen  cents. 

But  this  and  kindred  ways  of  spending 
his  money  had  earned  him  the  reputation  as 
a  fool  and  a  Avastrel.  Gossip  came  to  his 
ears.  All  society,  it  seemed,  was  condemn- 
ing him  for  a  witless  young  spendthrift. 
Barbara,  he  could  see,  was  getting  worried. 
He  thought  her  manner  was  colder.  But 
Avhat  distressed  him  even  more  was  the 
troubled  look  he  detected  in  the  eyes  of 
Peggy  and  her  mother.  They  did  not 
criticise  him,  but  he  noticed  that  they  were 


worried  and  unhappy,  and  he  guessed  why. 

Even  the  knowledge  that  the  gossips  and 
the  critics  were  wrong,  and  that  he  had  a 
reason  for  what  he  was  doing,  failed  alto- 
gether to  deaden  Monty's  sensibilities.  He 
didn't  like  the  way  people  were  talking. 
They  accused  him  of  not  having  any  sort  of 
a  serious  purpose  in  life.  So  he  decided  to 
go  into  business.  He  studied  Wall  Street 
with  the  aid  of  Elon  Gardner,  who  was  a 
broker.  He  knew  that  there  he  could  make 
an  impression  as  a  business  man  and  still 
lose  a  lot  of  money.  Brokers  universally  re- 
spected as  sagacious  men  did  that  every  day. 
Buy  me  Lumber  and  Fuel,"  he  told 
Gardner,  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 

'  As  an  investment  1 "  said  Gardner,  doubt- 
fully. "It's  all  right,  but  you  can  get  it 
cheaper  by  waiting.  It's  at  the  top  of  a 
rise  now  and  it's  going  to  slump." 

/'  No — as   a    speculation,"    said    Monty. 
On  margin — buy  me  ten  thousand  shares!" 
You're   crazy  !  "  said    Gardner.       "  It's 
due  to  hit  the  slide  any  moment." 

"  I've  got  reasons — and  you'll  do  as  I  say, 
please,"  said  Monty,  a  little  stifHy. 

Gardner  yielded,  reluctantly.  After  all, 
it  was  Monty's  money.  And  when  Monty, 
the  day  after  he  had  given  his  orders, 
walked  into  Gardner's  office  he  found 
Nopper  Harrison  and  most  of  the  others 
there.  They  looked  at  him  sorrowfully. 
He  went  at  once  to  the  ticker.  L.  and  F. 
was  off  a  point  already. 

He  waited  around  hopefully.  He  saw 
his  friends  gathered  gloomily  about  the 
ticker,  and  he  knew  by  their  expressions 
that  all  was  going  well.  He  must  be  losing 
heavily  with  every  click  of  the  instrument. 

"I  was  afraid  of  this — she's  going  down," 
said  Gardner. 

Don't  worry — I  know  what  I'm  doing, 
Gardy,"  said  Monty.  "  Wait  till  you  hear 
from  me — don't  sell,  on  any  account.  If 
you  need  more  margin,  put  it  up — you've 
got  the  securities.  I'm  off  for  a  ride — need 

"  You'd  better  stick  right  here,"  said 
Gardner,  warningly.  "  No  telling  what 
will  happen." 

"  You've  got  your  orders — don't  sell  till 
you  hear  from  me,  if  the  stock  goes  clear 
through  to  Australia,"  said  Monty. 

Then  he  went  off.  As  he  rode  through 
the  park  he  responded  joyously  to  the  thrill 

of  the  galloping  horse.  With  any  sort  of 
luck  he  would  lose  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  or  more.  That  would 
enable  him  to  take  it  easy  for  a  month.  He 
enjoyed  his  ride  thoroughly  and  prolonged 
it  so  that  he  had  just  time  to  change  before 
going  to  his  club  to  meet  Colonel  Drew, 
Barbara's  father,  for  lunch.  He  waited  a 
minute  or  two  for  the  colonel,  and  noticed, 
with  surprise,  that  the  older  men  seemed  to 
have  changed  in  their  attitude  toward  him. 
They  looked  at  him  with  respect.  Then 
the  colonel  came  in. 

Ah,  you  sly  dog  ! "  he  said.  "  Monty, 
why  didn't  you  let  your  friends  in  1  How 
much  have  you  made  ?  Enough  to  cover  a 
few  of  your  extravagant  doings,  I'll  warrant." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  colonel  1 "  But 
Monty  knew  ;  his  heart  sank  within  him.^"] 

'  Why,  your  drive  in  Lumber  and  Fuel, 
to  be  sure,"  said  the  colonel.  "  You  sent 
it  up  to  a  hundred  and  fifteen  !  A  clear 
gain  of  five  points  !  " 

Monty  summoned  a  ghastly  smile. 
Oh — yes — pretty  good,  wasn't  itl"  he 

"You  sold  at  the  top,  of  course,  didn't 
you  1 "  said  the  colonel.  "It's  off  now — it'll 
keep  on  dropping." 

"Sold?  Not  a  bit  of  it !"  said  Monty, 
hopefully.  If  the  stock  was  going  down 
he  might  still  retrieve  his  winnings. 

H'm  !  "  said  the  colonel.  I  went  short 
— excuse  me  a  moment  while  I  telephone." 

He  told  his  brokers  to  cover  his  short 
sales  and  go  long — and  advised  his  friends 
to  do  the  same.  And,  as  a  result,  when 
Monty  went  back  to  Gardner's  office  he  was 
the  centre  of  a  wildly  enthusiastic  crowd. 

"You've  made  a  clear  hundred  thousand — 
or  you  will  have  before  the  closing  !  "  said 
Gardner.  "Monty,  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
you  !  You're  a  wonder.  She  slumped  and 
I  spent  a  hundred  telephoning  you.  But 
she  went  right  back — and  she's  on  her  way 
up  to  the  skies  now." 

"  Yes — sell  at  once,"  said  Monty,  in 
sudden  panic. 

His  quick  sale  cost  him  some  of  his  profits 
and  the  respect  of  Gardner  and  the  le^t. 
But  on  the  whole  deal,  instead  of  losing  a 
hundred  thousand  or  more,  he  won  nearly 
sixty  thousand  dollars  ! 

[To  be  concluded  in  the  November  issue]. 

On  the  Verge  of  War 

Adapted  from  tlie  101  BISON  Film  by  Owen  Ga?^th. 

Few  realise  the  tremendous  network  of  spies  which 
covers  Great  Britain  in  spite  ot  the  War  and  all  it 
has  taught.  Few  know  the  methods  and  means  which 
are  used  for  obtaining  information,  or  of  the  un 
scrupulousness  and  the  ingenuity  with  which  the 
national  secrets  are  revealed  to  the  enemy.  This 
story  endeavours  to  throw  a  light  on  the  methods 
of  spies,  and  tells  the  story  of  an  attempt  to  steal 
important     naval    plans,    which     almost     succeeded. 

lEDEO  VILLARD  was  con- 
fronted by  a  formidable  task. 
The  most  resourceful  of  spies, 
he  felt  that  here  was  a  test 
of  his  capabilities,  a  severe 
test  which  would  tax  them 
to  the  utmost. 

It  required  thinking  over.  Pedro  went 
out  into  the  street  and  thought,  thought 
hard,  but  with  one  keen  eye  on  all  that 
passed  and  happened.  The  plans  indeed 
were  important,  the  naval  base  for  the 
operations  against  the  country  he  served  was 
of  the  utmost  importance.  If  he  could  obtain 
the  plans  he  was  ordered  to  secure,  then 
half  the  value  of  the  base  would  be  nulli- 
fied when  war  broke  out.  To  think  that 
way  was  one  thing,  to  carry  out  what  the 
authorities  ordered  was  another.  Why,  he 
did  not  even  know,  in  the  first  place,  where 
to  turn  to  look  for  the  plans — and  even  if 
that  were  clear,  there  would  be  the  task  of 
laying  his  hands  on  them;  and  to  be  sure, 
valuable  plans,  such  as  these,  were  not  left 
lying  about  here,  there  and  anywhere. 

Diable  !  That  they  should  press  him  to 
time  and  threaten  him  if  he  failed. 

Pedro  Villard's  steps  turned  to  a  meaner 
(luarter  of  the  town  and  presently  brought 
him  to  a  dirty-windowed  cafe.  Here  he 
turned  in  and  met,  whom  he  had  expected 
to  meet,  several  of  those  in  a  similar  pro- 
fession to  his — paid  minions  of  the  same 

He  sat  down  at  the  same  table,  but  for  a 
moment  never  spoke.  The  others  took  no 
notice  of  him. 

Several  minutes  of  silence  on  Villard's 
part  followed.  Then  he  spoke,  but  without 
looking  at  his  companions. 

"Have  you  heard  anything — are  you  at 

"General  information  onlyat  themoment,'* 
replied  the  one  nearest  to  him. 

"Anything  useful  V 
No,  but  you  know  the  Admiralty  is  busy, 
We  must  expect  a  breaking  off  of  negotia- 
tions soon." 

Any  news  of  the  naval  bases  1" 
'Slight.  It  appears  the  Admiralty  are 
preparing  harbour  plans.  That  young  pup, 
Freeman,  has  been  seen  there  often.  Known 
to  be  rather  smart  at  that  kind  of  work. 
He  has  been  to  the  Admiralty  several  times 
during  the  last  few  days.  Carries  an  attache 
case  always  and  seems  wide  awake." 

Villard  asked  no  more  questions.  He  was 
trying  to  get  a  start,  a  point  to  work  from. 
Perhaps  in  this  information. 

The  arch  spy  rose  without  saying  a  word. 

Are  you  on  the "  One  of  the  company 

was  about  to  ask  a  serious  question,  but 
Villard  wheeled  and  checked  him  in  time, 
making  a  signal  to  ensure  silence  and  secrecy. 
Then  he  went  back  into  the  street. 

Freeman,  Lieut.  Freeman  !  Yes,  Villard 
knew  the  man.  Only  a  youngster,  yet  one 
of  the  cleverest  plan  tracers  in  the  navy. 
Villard  had  had  a  disagreeable  meeting  with 
him  before.  But  he,  Villard,  was  a  different 
person  now.  A  spy  has  to  change  his  colour 
and  his  character  as  circumstances  demand. 
Pedro  Villard  was  a  totally  different  person 
from  the  man  who  had  met  Freeman. 

The  vicinity  of  the  Admiralty  proved  an 
attraction  for  the  next  few  days.  He 
watched  Freeman  enter  and  leave  the  place, 
and  quickly  discovered  his  business.  Free- 
man was  his  quarry.  He  had  found  out  that 
the  Lieutenant  was  making  a  tracing  of  the 



naval  base  so  badly  needed,  but  he  wished 
it  had  been  any  man  but  this  stripling.  To 
know  him  was  one  matter,  to  beat  Lieut. 
Freeman  was  another,  Villard  knew  well. 
Had  he  not  fallen  across  the  lieutenant's 
path  before  1  The  remembrance  was  not 
pleasant.  Villard  racked  his  brains  for  a 
plan  to  outwit  the  man  he  shadowed,  but 
he  made  little  progress.  Evening  came  and 
Villard  was  no  nearer  the  development  of 
his  plans  than  before.  Casually  he  dropped 
into  a  small  theatre  where  variety  turns 
were  being  given,  but  he  took  no  interest  in 
the  entertainment  till  a  hypnotist  appeared 
on  the  stage.  With  him  he  had  a  pretty  girl, 
who  seemed  to  be  completely  under  his 
influence.  This  aroused  Villard  at  last,  and 
before  the  end  of  the  performance  he 
managed  to  send 
a  note  to  the 
hypnotist,  a 
bearded  man,  who 
styled  himself 
Professor  Polari, 
asking  for  an 

Something  was 
working  in  Vil- 
lard's  head.  He 
waited  for  Polari's 
answer.  It  came, 
giving  the  name 
of  a  restaurant 
not  far  from  the 
theatre  as  a  place 
of  meeting  on  the 
next  afternoon. 

Villard  was  up 
and  watching  the 

Admiralty  early  next  day.  He  saw  Lieut. 
Freeman  enter  the  building,  and  by  a  fine 
piece  of  bluflf  he  managed  to  follow.  Once 
inside  he  was  like  a  cat  on  the  watch. 
Presently  a  door  opened  near  him.  He  saw 
Freeman  say  good-bye  to  a  grey-haired  official 
and  heard  the  final  remark  : 

We  must  have  the  tracings  as  soon  as 
possible — you'll  get  to  work  on  them  at  once." 

Saluting,  Freeman  left  with  Villard  on  his 
trail.  tSo  he  had  the  tracing  in  his  possession, 
thought  the  spy.  But  how  was  he  to  get  his 
hands  on  them. 

Lieut.  Freeman  went  along  at  a  quick  pace 
and  finally  stopped  before  a  small  house  in 
t'le  best  parb  of  the  city,  let  himself  in  with 
a  key,  and  disappeared  from  sight. 

Villard  had  advanced  a  little  further.    He 

Once  inside,  he  was  like  a  cat  on  the  watch 

took  the  address  for  later  use,  then  turned  back 
to  keep  his  appointment  with  the  hypnotist. 
He  found  the  latter  awaiting  him. 

Conversation  took  a  general  turn  at  first, 
but  after  having  slyly  drawn  his  man,  Villard 
entered  into  the  purpose  of  their  meeting. 

'  Professor  Polari,"  he  said  in  his  suavest 
tones,  '  I  watched  your  performance  yesterday 
evening  and  I  was  deeply  impressed  by  your 
powers.  Now  I  could,  in  work  I  have  before 
me,  utilise  you  ability,  and  pay  handsomely 
for  it.  Are  you  ready  to  earn  a  small 
fortune  1 " 

Yes,  I  am  eager  to  make  money.  Theatre 
work  scarcely  provides  more  than  a  mere 
subsistence.  But  what  is  the  work  1  "  replied 

"  Nothing  particularly  difficult  and  not  at 
all  dangerous." 

'  In  that  case 
I  am  prepared  to 
undertake  it. 
But  I  must  know 
the  work  first." 

"Right,  listen, 
I  will  explain  to 
you.  A  certain 
young  architect 
has  some  plans 
which  my  firm 
want  particularly 
to  see.  The  plans 
are  not  to  be 
stolen.  We  only 
desire  them  in 
our  possession  for 
a  few  hours. 
But  we  must 
have  them  at 
once,  and  get  them  with  the  greatest  secrecy. 
I  know  where  they  are.  I  merely  want  you 
to  get  them  out  of  the  house  without 
raising   a   hue  and  cry,  and    I   think  you, 

with  the  aid  of  your  assistant — er " 

"  My  daughter,"  interposed  Polari, 
Just  so,  your  daughter,  might  be  able 
easily  to  manage  this." 

How  do  you  propose  to  start  1 " 
"We  must  get  your  daughter   into  this 
young  fellow's  house.     He  lives  alone  with 
his  mother." 

"  Hm — that's  the  initial  difficulty.  How 
do  you  propose  to  work  after  overcoming 
that  ? " 

Then  you  must  use  your  splendid  powers, 
"  Yes  ! " 



Remember,  the  pay  is  high — the  risk 
nothing  to  speak  of.  What  do  you  say — 
fifty  pounds  now  and  four  hundred  and  fifty 
when  the  task  is  successfully  accomplished  *? " 

Professor  Polari  thought  a  moment,  then 
he  extended  his  hand  to  the  spy. 

"  All  right,  it's  a  bargain,  and  it  will  not 
be  my  fault  if  the  papers  you  wish  to  see  are 
not  forthcoming." 

Good  !  Here  are  fifty  pounds  now.  I 
will  call  and  see  you  this  evening." 

The  spy  had  not  mistaken  his  man. 
Professor  Polari  wanted  money.  The  pro- 
spect of  earning  it  easily  swept  away  all  his 


*  +  * 

Fortune  in  the  next  few  days  was  on  the 
side  of  Villard.  Mrs.  Freeman  had  trouble 
with  her  maid,  and 
Myra,  the  professor's 
daughter,"  was  com- 
pelled against  her 
will  to  accept  the 
vacant  situation. 
How  this  was  man- 
aged needs  no  telling. 
This  was  a  simple 
matter  for  so  clever 
a  schemer  as  Villard. 
Now  it  was  Polari's 
turn  to  work.  His 
wonderful  influence 
made  the  girl  do  his 
will,  even  when  out 
of  sight  and  hearing. 
Everything  he  willed 
she  accomplished, 
making  no  mistake. 

Lieut.  Freeman 
quickly  took  note  of 

her  strange  actions.  Once  he  turned  sharply 
and  saw  her  staring  intently  at  the  plans  he 
was  working  on.  This  aroused  his  suspicions. 
When  he  went  out  he  hid  the  plans  carefully, 
but  even  this  was  not  proof  against  Polari's 
will.  Myra  found  them  at  a  time  when  she 
was  repairing  a  cloak  which  Mrs.  Freeman 
intended  wearing  at  a  ball  the  following  even- 
ing. Still  under  her  "father's"  influence,  she 
sewed  them  up  in  the  cloak,  her  fingers 
working  in  the  stitching  a  message  in  the 
Morse  code. 

It  was  a  great  effort  on  Polari's  part.  The 
spy  stood  over  him  and  urged  him  till  the 
hypnotist  collapsed  under  the  strain,  but  not 
before  he  had  explained  where  the  precious 
t>lans  were  concealed  and  how  they  were  to 

The  hypnotist  and  his  daughter, 

be  smuggled  out  of  the  house. 

When  Lieut.  Freeman  returned  he  went 
immediately  to  the  hiding  place,  but  the  plans 
were  gone.  For  a  moment  he  was  dumb- 
founded. He  saw  visions  of  himself  degraded. 
He  pulled  himself  together,  however,  and 
sought  Myra.  His  suspicions  rested  on  her. 
There  was  no  direct  clue,  but  the  girl  was  a 
mystery.  Perhaps  she  was  the  tool  of  some  spy. 
The  lieutenant  found  her  making  the  finishing 
stitches  in  the  cloak,  and  he  resolved  on  bold 
strategy.  Tearing  the  cloak  from  her  hands 
he  demanded  to  know  where  the  plans  she 
had  stolen  were. 

The  girl  shrank  back  in  fear — she  put  out 
her  hands  as  if  to  ward  off"  some  danger. 

"Where  are  the  plans  you  have  stolen*? 
Where  have  you  put  them?"  cried  Freeman, 

"  I  _  I  _'•  s  h  e 
would  confess,  but 
the  vision  of  Polari 
came  up  before  her — 
he  was  at  work  again 
impressing  his  will 
on  hers.  She  at- 
tempted to  resist, 
but  it  was  useless. 
Worn  out  and  weak, 
she  swooned  under 
the  effort,  and  would 
have  fallen  had  not 
Freeman  slipped  his 
arm  round  her.  Lay- 
ing Myra  gently 
down  on  the  couch 
he  called  his  mother, 
and  then  proceeded 
quietly  to  search  the 
When  Myra  swooned,  Polari  was  straining 
his  powers  to  the  utmost,  and  the  continual 
will-strain  was  evidently  telling  on  him. 
Only  under  the  constant  urgings  of  the  spy 
was  he  forced  to  work.  When  his  medium 
lost  consciousness  the  wear  and  tear  was 
becoming  unbearable.  Losing  the  connection 
at  the  critical  moment  was  the  last  straw. 
Suddenly  he  collapsed,  and  when  the  spy 
lifted  his  head  to  see  what  was  wrong,  he 
found  that  Polari  was  dead. 

With  a  scowl  of  disregard  and  disdain,  he 
turned  away.  What  mattered  the  hypnotist 
to  him  now  1  He  had  learned  where  the  plans 
were,  and  knew  that  if  all  went  right  they 
would  be  in  his  possession  within  the  next 
few  hours.     He  had   no  more  use  for  his 



tool — it  was  perhaps  better  he  had  died. 

The  first  thing  that  Lieut.  Freeman  did 
when  he  discovered  the  loss  of  the  plans 
was  to  telephone  his  chief,  who  came  down 
to  him  immediately.  To  the  grey-haired 
chief  Freeman  explained  all  that  occurred. 
'  Have  you  searched  the  house?"  was  the 
chief's  first  question. 

Xo,  but  I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  that 
they  are  still  here, '  answered  the  Lieutenant. 
Give  me  a  few  hours  and  I  think  I  can 
find  them.  No  one  has  left  the  house  since 
they  were  missed  and  no  one  has  entered. 
I  think  my  mother's  maid  can  tell  me  some- 
thing about  the  matter." 

Have  you  questioned  her  yet  ?  " 

I  commenced  to  but  she  was  taken  ill. 
As  soon  as  she  is 
better  I  will  draw 
the  truth  from  her. 
In  the  meanwhile,  if 
you  will  allow  me,  I 
will  search  the  place." 
"  Well,  perhaps 
that  is  the  best  way. 
But  those  tracings 
must  not  leave  this 
country,"  said  the 
chief,  picking  up  his 
hat.  "  You  under- 
stand, you  will  1  e 
held  responsible  if 
they  do — and  that 
means "  he  halt- 
ed significantly,  then 
added:  "Don't  pro- 
long the  search.  If 
the  plans  have  left  "  Picking  up  the  cloak  he 
this  house  we  must 
be  quickly   on  the  trail." 

I  understand,  sir,  but  I  reckon  there 
will  be  no  need  to  look  outside,  except  for 
the  blackguard  who  engineered  the  theft," 
replied  Freeman,  grimly,  as  he  saluted  the 
departing  figure. 

Immediately  the  chief  had  disappeared, 
Freeman  lan  back  to  the  room  where  he 
had  left  the  maid  with  his  mother.  The 
girl  had  regained  consciousness,  but  was  not 
in  a  fit  state  to  be  interrogated.  Picking 
up  the  cloak  he  looked  at  the  stitching  the 
girl  had  been  doing  when  he  snatched  the 
work  from  her  hands.  The  stitches  were 
irregular.  He  looked  closer.  They  were 
in  black  thread,  whereas  the  lining  was 
white;  and  instead  of  even  and  close  together, 

they  were  long  and  short,  after  the  fashion 
of  the-  -why,  it  was  in  the  Morse  code  t 
This  was  interesting,  perhaps  it  would  tell 
something  more,  something  about  the  plans, 
for  plainly  a  message  was  stitchtd  there  by 
the  girl  for  some  purpose. 

Slowly  he  deciphered  the  message  :  At 
the  charity  ball,  Mrs.  Freeman's  cloak." 

This  was  the  message  which,  by  means  of 
telepathic  waves,  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
hypnotist  before  he  collapsed,  and  from  himi 
to  the  spy. 

Lieut.  Freeman  gasped  as  he  read.  This 
was  the  solution  of  the  mystery.  The  plans 
were  no  doubt  sewn  up  in  the  cloak,  and 
were  to  be  extracted  at  the  charity  ball  by  a. 
third  pei-son,  to  him  unknown. 

Feeling  the  cloak  all  over.  Freeman  found: 
the  precious  plans, 
and  taking  them 
from  the  lining  re- 
placed them  with  a 
roll  of  blank  paper, 
without  anyone 
knowing.  He  in- 
formed his  chief  of 
the  recovery  of  the 
plans,  and  then 
waited.  The  reat 
culprit  would  be 
caught  red-handed  at 
the  ball.  He  would 
arrange  for  that. 
*  +  * 

The  charity  ball 
was  going  to  be  a 
brilliant  affair. 
Scores  of  fashionable 
people  were  already 
assembled  when 
his  mother  arrived. 
They  were  soon  swallowed  up  in  the  crowd, 
but  Freeman,  handing  over  his  mother  to  a 
friendly  circle,  doubled  back  to  the  entrance 
to  watch.  His  mother  had  worn  the  cloak 
with  the  code  message  stitched  in  it ;  the 
person  who  looked  for  that  message,  and  the 
papers  it  revealed,  would  be  the  man  lie 
wished  to  capture. 

Slowly  all  the  people  moved  into  the 
ball-room,  and  the  hall  was  left  practically  free 
except  for  a  few  men  who  still  loitered 
there.  Taking  up  a  position  where  he  could 
watch  all  that  happened  in  the  cloak-room 
with  the  aid  of  a  mirror.  Freeman  aAvaited 

Presently   he   saw   a   figure    in    evening 

looked  at  the  stitching." 

Lieut.    Freeman   and 



"  The  pair  drew"  from  Myra  the  whole  sad  story  of  her  life." 

dress  enter  the  room  and  run  his  hands  over 
the  clothing.  Holding  himself  against  his 
first  impulse  to  rush  in  and  close  with  the 
intruder,  Freeman  waited  and  watched 
developments.  He  saAv  the  thief's  gesture 
of  satisfaction  when  he  fastened  on  Mrs. 
Freeman's  cloak,  and  read  the  message  in 
the  stitches.  He  saw  the  spy  rip  open  the 
lining  of  the  cloak  and  gloat  over  the  papers 
he  drew  forth.  Then  Freeman  gave  a 
signal   and    dashed   at    the    spy.       Several 

secret  police  appeared  from  hiding  places, 
but  instead  of  one  man,  they  found  a 
number  to  grapple  with,  and  in  ihc  melee 
Villard  broke  from  Freeman's  giasp,  and 
jumping  through  a  window,  escaped.  The 
hue  and  cry  was  raised,  but  Villard  liad  a 
good  start  and  placed  as  much  distance  as 
possible  between  him  and  his  pursuers,  who 
took  some  time  to  pick  up  the  trail.  He 
raced  them  to  the  coast  in  an  automobile, 
jumped  into  a  waiting  boat,  and  w as  lowcd 



out  to  a  ship  lying  off  shore.  No  sooner 
had  he  boarded  than  sail  was  set,  and  the 
vessel  was  quickly  swallowed  up  in  the  dark. 
That  was  the  end  of  Pedro  Villard  as  far 
as  Lieut.  Freeman  was  concerned.  The  ulti- 
mate end  of  the  spy  leaked  out  sometime 
later.  Arriving  at  his  destination  he  was 
hilariously  welcomed  as  he  waved  the  papers 
which  were  supposed  would  reveal  the 
enemy's  naval  base,  and  all  particulars 
about  it.  But  when  those  supposed  plans 
were  opened,  and  only  blank  paper  revealed 
(the  decoy  papers  Lieut.  Freeman  had  placed 
in  his  mother's  cloak)  the  demeanour  of  the 
assembly  changed.  The  chief  of  the  bureau 
charged  Villard  with  treachery.  The  smash- 
ing of  his  hopes  enraged  him.  He  ordered 
the  spy's  arrest,  and  the  beaten  fellow  was 
hurried  away,  God  knows  where.  This 
only  is  known  :  twelve  hours  later  Pedro 
Villard  ceased  to  breathe. 

The  ball  was  left  to  itself  as  far  as  Lieut. 
Freeman  was  concerned  when  the  spy 
escaped.  He  joined  in  the  chase,  and  even 
endeavoured  to  intercept  the  strange  vessel 
which  disappeared  into  the  night.  But  he 
failed,  and  chagrined,  he  was  forced  to 
return  home.  There  he  found  his  mother 
shaken  with  anxiety  and  mourning  her 
ruined  cloak.  He  tried  to  sooth  her.  In 
this,  so  far  as  himself  was  concerned,  his 
appearance  was  sufficient,  but  that  did  not 
repair  the  spoilt  cloak. 

"  Never  mind,  mother;  I'll  buy  you  a  new 
cloak  as  a  present.  Do  you  know  that  old 
cloak  has  saved  my  reputation  ?  The  lost 
plans  were  hidden  in  it,  and  that  is  what  the 
thief  was  after  when  he  slashed  the  lining 

"  But  you  got  the  plans  back,  boy,"  cried 
old  Mrs.  Freeman  eagerly.  She  was  proud  of 
her  son,  and  prouder  of  his  position  and 

"They're  all  right,  mother.  They  were  not 
in  the  cloak,  I  had  removed  them  previously." 

"Then  why  did  you  let  me  wear  the 
cloak,  knowing  it  would  be  cut  to  pieces'?" 

Strategy,  mother,  strategy.  I  wanted 
to  catch  that  spy.  But  now  I  want  to  see 
that  poor  little  girl  who  was  made  the  dupe 
of  those  infernal  scamps.  I'd  like  to  know 
her  story." 

"She  is  in  there,  boy."  Mrs.  Freeman 
pointed  to  another  room.  "  Quietly,  she  is 
not  thoroughly  recovered  yet,"  she  ad- 

Lieut.  Freeman  entered  the  room  where 
Myra  sat  wearily  trying  to  piece  together  the 
events  of  the  past  few  days. 

Don't  move,  remain  where  you  are," 
he  cried  out,  as  she  turned.  I  have  not 

come  to  bully  you  this  time." 

A  wan  smile  spread  over  her  rather  pretty 
but  sad  features. 

Mrs.  Freeman  followed  her  son  to  enquire 
how  the  patient  was  progressing,  and  the 
pair  drew  from  Myra,  bit  by  bit,  the  whole 
sad  tale  of  her  life :  how  she  had  come  under 
Polari's  influence  when  young;  how  he  had 
treated  her  as  a  daughter,  though  he  was 
not  her  father;  and  how  she  had  been  com- 
pelled to  do  his  will,  though  she  had 
ofttiraes  rebelled  against  it. 

Before  the  recital  was  concluded,  Freeman 
entertained  a  different  feeling  for  Myra.  That 
feeling  in  the  days  to  come  developed  into 
something  stronger,  more  defined.  But  that 
is  part  of  another  story,  not  to  be  written 
here.  The  reader,  however,  will  scarcely 
have  difficulty  in  reading  the  end. 

"O  UTH  ROLAND  is  the  owner  of  a  brand  new 
-^^  motor  car.  The  irrepressible  Kalem 
comedienne  was  on  her  way  to  the  studio 
one  morning,  where  she  was  to  take  part  in 
"  The  Bingville  Fire  Department,"  a  Kalem 
comedy,  when  the  auto  suddenly  came  to  a  halt. 
Nor  could  any  amount  of  tinkering  induce  it  to 

The  usual  crowd  promptly  gathered. 

"  Trouble?"  asked  a  bystander. 

"  Yes,"  curtly  replied  Miss  Roland. 

"  What  power  car  is  it  ?  " 

"Forty-horse,"  came  the  answer. 

"  Well,  what  seems  to  be  the  matter  with  it?  " 

Miss  Roland  glanced  at  the  inquisitive  one  in 

disgust.  "  Well,"  she  replied,  "  from  the  way  it 
acts  I  should  say  that  thirty-nine  of  the  horses 
were  dead." 

SALLY  CRUTE,  one  of  the  Edison  "stars," 
has  made  an  impression  upon  an  entire 
family  of  moving  picture  enthusiasts.  She 
has  received  at  the  studio  a  dozen  America 
beauty  roses  with  a  note  stating  that  her  acting 
in  the  Edison  film,  "  The  Powers  of  the  Air"  has 
wonderfully  touched  the  hearts  of  every  member 
of  the  family.  It  will  be  of  interest  to  many 
to  know  that  Miss  Crute  is  an  artiste  of  no 
mean  ability  with  pen  and  brush,  aside  from  her 
capabilities  before  the  camera. 

The  Adventures  of 
Miss  Tomboy, 

OR,     LOVE,     LUCK    AND     GASOLENE. 

From  the  VITAGRAPH  Photoplay.      Adapted  by  James  Cooper. 

This  vivacious  and  clever  young  lady  falls  into  no 
end  of  scrapes,  from  which  she  emerges  successfully. 
Bunny  tries  to  act  the  Spartan  father,  but  his  good 
nature  gets  the  better  of  him  every  time,  and  Miss 
Tomboy  scores. 

Instalment  I. 

IfHEKE  were  times  when  Mr. 
Bunny  could  have  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  wish  his  daughter 
had  been  a  boy.  In  that  case 
the  mad  pranks  in  which  she 
was  continually  indulging 
would  have  been  natural  and  proper.  It  was 
right  enough  that  a  boy  should  climb  trees, 
play  baseball,  run  races  and  get  into  all  sorts 
of  mischief.  People  expected  them  to  do 
these  things,  remarking  indulgently  that 
boys  will  be  boys  ;  but  when  girls  did  them 
they  had  a  habit  of  being  shocked  and  of 
declaring  that  such  things  were  most  un- 
dignified and  unladylike,  as  indeed  they 

It  occurred  to  Mr.  Bunny  every  now  and 
then  in  moments  of  thoughtfulness  that  his 
daughter  Lillian  was  too  old  now  for  these 
things.  She  was  nearly  nineteen,  and  it 
was  really  time  that  she  left  off  shocking  the 
proprieties  and  setting  the  conventions  at 
defiance.  She  ought  to  settle  down  into  a 
staid,  well-behaved  young  lady,  as  became 
her  and  her  father's  position  in  society. 
Mr.  Bunny,  in  fact,  easy-going  and  indulgent 
parent  as  he  was  on  the  whole,  was  beginning 
to  feel  seriously  disquieted.  He  lived  in 
constant  fear  of  what  she  might  do  next. 

He  wished  sometimes  that  his  sense  of 
humour  was  not  so  keen.  He  could  not  for 
the  life  of  him  help  being  intensely  amused 
at  her  pranks;  and  often  when  he  was  rebuk- 
ing her  for  something  particularly  outrage- 
ous he  spoiled  the  whole"  thing  by  going  off 
into  fits  of  laughter.     Then  the  little  minx 

knew  she  had  him,  for  he  always  found  it  im- 
possible to  get  angry  again  after  that.  A  pair 
of  soft  arms  round  his  neck,  a  kiss,  and  Miss 
Tomboy's  merry  laughter,  completed  her 
father's  subjugation,  and  he  could  only  register 
a  mental  vow  to  be  stern  and  uncompromising 
next  time. 

Miss  Tomboy,  in  spite  of  the  worry  she 
caused  him,  was  the  apple  of  his  eye.  He 
was  immensely  proud  of  her  really,  and 
delighted  in  her  affection  for  him.  Still,  as 
she  had  been  born  a  girl,  he  did  wish  she 
would  not  act  so  much  like  a  boy.  Things 
were  really  getting  desperate,  and  the  time 
would  come,  he  told  himself,  frowning  and 
looking  very  stern  indeed,  when  he  would 
have  to  put  his  foot  down. 

It  was  perhaps  owing  to  his  fear  that  he 
would  never  be  able  to  manage  his  daughter 
himself  that  he  began  to  think  seriously  of 
turning  over  the  responsibility  to  someone 
else.  There  was  Van  Alstyne,  for  instance, 
a  decidedly  eligible  suitor;  older,  much  older 
than  Miss  Tomboy,  of  course,  but  very 
wealthy,  and  very  anxious  to  marry  her 
Like  many  other  indulgent  fathers,  Mr. 
Bunny  did  not  dream  that  his  daughter 
would  seriously  oppose  such  a  scheme  ;  but 
there  was  an  obstacle,  and  that  was  Cutey. 
He  and  Miss  Tomboy  had  been  excellent 
chums  since  the  girl's  nursery  days,  and  just 
lately  the  idea  that  they  might  become  moi  e 
than  chums  had  added  to  Mr.  Bunny's  other 

There  was  no  objection  to  Cutey   as    a 
possible    husband    for    Lillian    on    financial 



grounds :  he  had  plenty  of  money,  but  he 
was  irst  such  another  irresponsible  madcap 
as  the  girl  herself,  and  a  match  between 
them  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Mr.  Bunny 
was  very  determined  about  that,  very 
determined  indeed.  He  must  tell  Lillian  that 
she  must  not  be  so  friendly  with  Cutey. 

Matters  were  at  this  stage  on  the  day  of 
the  garden  party.  Mr.  Bunny  had  entered 
upon  this  function  with  fear  and  pertur- 
bation. He  was  afraid  of  what  Miss  Tomboy 
might  do.  But  for  a  wonder  everything  went 
off  successfully.  His  daughter  devoted  her- 
self to  the  entertainment  of  the  guests  with 
a  dignity  and  charm  which  delighted  his 
heart  and  won  compliments  from  the  guests 

When  the  last  of  the  guests  had  gone 
Mr.  Bunny  and  his  daughter  had  a  little  chat, 
and  he  told  her  how  pleased  he  was  with  her 
behaviour.  She  was  very  demure,  but  there 
was  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  which 
might  have  warned  Mr.  Bunny  of  trouble  to 
■come.  But  he  did  not  notice  it,  and  went 
off  to  have  forty  winks  in  the  shade,  leaving 
Miss  Tomboy  alone. 

She  waited  until  he  had  settled  down, 
and  then  gave  a  soft,  low  whistle. 
Immediately  out  of  the  trees  there  came  a 
smart,  good-looking  boy,  apparently  four 
or  five  years  older  than  Miss  Tomboy. 
His  laughing  face  was  alight  with  mischief. 

''S-sh!"  whispered  the  girl,  pointing  to 
the  chair  at  a  little  distance  in  which  Mr. 
Bunny  was  reclining,  peacefully  asleep. 
^'Doesn't  he  look  sweet?" 

Cutey  laughed.  "  I'm  dying  for  a  cup  of 
tea,"  he  said.       '  Do  give  me  some." 

Miss  Tomboy  poured  out  a  cup  and 
handed  it  to  him.  They  were  enjoying 
themselves  imntensely  when  Mr.  Bunny, 
disturbed  by  a  fly  which  was  promenading 
over  his  expansive  countenance,  opened  his 
■eyes.  He  saw  his  daughter  cramming  a  bun 
into  Cutey's  mouth,  and  heard  her  declare 
that  he'd  got  to  eat  it  if  it  choked  him. 
Cutey  negotiated  the  mouthful  after  a 
struggle,  and  while  the  horrified  Mr.  Bunny 
looked  on,  undecided  as  yet  how  to  act,  he 
saw  Miss  Tomboy  brush  the  crumbs  from 
Cutey's  lips  with  her  dainty  lace  handker- 
chief, after  which  Cutey  paid  her  a  similar 
kindly  attention.  Mr.  Buruiy  made  sure 
that  they  were  going  to  kiss  one  another, 
but  they  did  not. 

Instead,  seized  by  a  sudden  impulse,  Miss 
Tomboy   rushed  off  across    the   laAvn  to  a 

swing  which  was  hung  upon  one  of  the 
trees.  She  made  a  charming  picture,  which 
Mr.  Bunny  was  in  no  mood  to  appreciate. 
He  groaned. 

Now  Miss  Tomboy  was  seated  on  the 
swing,  and  Cutey  was  preparing  to  give  her 
a  start.  The  girl  leaned  back  in  the  swing 
until  her  face  was  very  near  to  Cutey's. 
There  was  invitation  in  her  eyes  and  her 
lips  were  very  tempting.  It  would  have 
been  hard  for  any  man  to  resist,  and  Cutey 
did  not  try.     He  kissed  her. 

This  was  more  than  Mr.  Bunny  could 
stand.  He  bounced  out  of  his  chair,  and  in 
a  rage  hurried  across  the  lawn  to  the  culprits. 
They  were  in  blissful  ignorance  of  his  near- 
ness, and  before  he  was  able  to  utter  a  word 
Cutey  had  kissed  Miss  Tomboy  again.  It 
must  be  said  that  she  made  no  attempt  to 
prevent  him. 

"Well,"  spluttered  Mr.  Bunny,    "of  all 

the .    What  are  you  doing,  sir  1    What 

the  devil  are  you  doing  ?" 

Cutey  trembled.  Mr.  Bunny  looked  so 
very  angry.     "I — I  couldn't  help  it,  sir,"  he 

stammered.       '  You  see,  I — I " 

Yes,  I  do  see.  It's  scandalous.  How 
dare  you  kiss  my  daughter?  Right  before 
my  eyes  too  !  " 

Miss  Tomboy  burst  out  laughing.  "  We 
thought  you  were  asleep,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Bunny  spluttered  worse  than  ever. 
He  nearly  choked.  'You're  a  minx,"  he 
bawled.  "  I'll  lock  you  in  your  room.  And 
as  for  you,  Mr.  Cutey,  or  whatever  your 
silly  name  is,  don't  let  me  catch  you  hanging 
round  here  again.  I  won't  have  it,  do  you 
hear  1  Off  you  go  !  Clear  out." 

Miss  Tomboy  had  to  submit  to  a  severe 
lecture  after  that,  but  it  was  not  of  much 
effect,  for  next  day,  as  Mr.  Bunny  was  going 
off  to  his  club,  a  friend  stopped  him. 

"  That  girl  of  yours  is  at  it  again,  Bunny," 
he  said.  "  She's  playing  baseball  now,  with 
the  boys  " 

Mr.  Bunny  went  back  to  the  house, 
ordered  out  his  car  and  -went  in  search  of 
Miss  Tomboy.  He  found  her,  sure  enough, 
weilding  the  bat,  and  shouting  to  Cutey  to 
pitch  the  ball  as  hard  as  he  could. 

Mr.  Bunny  strode  across  the  field.  Cutey 
saw  him  coming  and  fled. 

"Lillian,"  said  the  irate  old  gentleman, 
"  put  down  that  bat,  and  come  along  home 
at  once." 

Protesting  vigorously,  Miss  Tomboy  never- 
theless   ol)eyed.       But    she    was    smarting 


under  the  humiliation,  and  Mr.  Bunny 
thoughtlessly  gave  her  an  opportunity  to 
pay  him  out.  When  they  reached  the  car 
he  ',  mechanically  climbed  in  at  the  back, 
leaving  the  driving  seat  clear  for  Miss 
Tomboy.  She  spi'ang  in,  and  started  the 
car  with  a  jerk  which    nearly  jolted    Mr. 

fancied  himself  in  his  reefer  coat,  white  duck 
trousers,  and  smart  yachting  cap.  Cutey  did 
his  best  to  give  his  guests  an  enjoyable  time, 
and  Mr.  Bunny  was  charmed.  There  was 
yacht  racing  going  on,  and  he  was  loud  in  his 
admiration  of  the  white-winged  beauties  as 
they  skimmed  and  flew  past  the  steam  yacht. 

"  She  gave  a  little  scream  of  delight.     Trousers,  white  duck  trousers  ! 

Banny  out  of  it.  Then,  with  a  sublime 
disregard  of  the  speed  limit  and  the  rule  of 
the  road,  she  drove  him  home.  It  was  such 
an  experience  as  made  Mr.  Bunny  wish 
that  motor-cars  had  never  been  invented. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  Mr.  Bunny 
became  interested  in  yachting.  He  had 
somewhat  relaxed  his  severity  with  regard  to 
Cutey,  and  that  young  man  found  many 
opportunities  of  meeting  Miss  Tomboy. 
Perhaps  the  fact  that  Cutey  was  an 
enthusiastic  yachtsman  himself,  and  owned  a 
fine  steam  yacht,  had  something  to  do  with 
Mr.  Bunny's  changed  feelings  towards  him. 
Mr  Bunny,  however,  was  still  strongly 
determined  that  his  daughter  should  marry 
Van  Alstyne.  Still  he  accepted  Cutey's 
invitation  for  himself  and  his  daughter  to 
spend  an  afternoon  and  have  tea  on  the  steam 
yacht  which  was  anchored  about  half-a-mile 
from  the  shore. 

Mr.  Bunny  dressed  for  the  part,  and  rather 

I've  more  than  half  a  mind,"  he  said,  "to 
go  in  for  the  sport  myself." 

"Well,  why  not?"  returned  Cutey.  "I 
know  the  very  boat  for  you.  There  she  lies." 
He  pointed  to  a  smart,  likely-looking  cutter 
lying  not  far  away.  "  She'd  have  been  racing 
to-day,"  he  said,  "  but  her  owner  is  hard  up. 
He'd  be  only  too  glad  to  sell  her." 

"  Oh,  Dad,  do  buy  her,"  put  in  Miss 

"Hm,"  remarked  her  father,  "we'll  see. 
Is  she  fast  ?  " 

"  Fast !"  cried  Cutey.  "She's  a  regular 
clipper.  She  can  show  her  heels  to  anything 
in  thesewaters.  She's  acert.  for  the  Club  Cup. 
Would  you  like  to  take  the  launch  and  have 
a  look  at  her  ? " 

Mr.  Bunny  had  decided  to  buy  the  boat 
before  he  had  been  on  board  ten  minutes. 
He  could  already  see  in  imagination  the  Club 
Cup  in  the  place  of  honour  in  his  libraiy.  He 
fancied  himself  telling  his  friends  how  his 




yacht  had  won  it.  Miss  Tomboy  was  over- 
joyed, and  Mr.  Bunny  turned  from  a  conversa- 
tion with  the  skipper  to  find  her  and  Cutey 
dancing  madly  about  the  deck. 

"  Lillian,"  he  said  sternly,  but  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  be  angry  with  her.  He  firmly 
declined,  however,  to  give  her  permission  to 
climb  the  mast. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I'm  going  to  learn  how 
to  sail  the  yacht,  at  any  rate.  It  will  be 
heaps  more  fun  than  driving  a  car." 

She  forthwith  set  about  the  conquest  cf 
the  skipper,  and  had  her  first  lesson  in 
seamanship  that  very  afternoon.  For  the 
next  few  weeks  she  caused  her  father  no 
anxiety  at  all.  She  was  out  almost  every  day 
in  the  yacht,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the 
skipper  declared  enthusiastically  that  she 
could  handle  the  vessel  as  cleverly  as  he 

But  Miss  Tomboy  fell  into  disgrace  once 
more.  Cutey  came  to  her  one  day  and  told 
her  that  he  had  entered  for  a  swimming  race, 
and  nothing  would  content  her  but  that  she 
should  enter  too. 

"  But  it's  only  for  members  of  the  club — 
the  yacht  club,"  he  remonstrated. 

"Well,  I'm  a  member  of  the  yacht  club," 
she  retorted. 

"  Yes,  but  it  isn't  a  race  for  girls." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  swim  in  it,"  said 
Miss  Tomboy  decidedly,  "  and  you  must 
help  me." 

Cutey  surrendered, 
after  suggesting  that 
her  father  might  not 
like  it. 

"  He  won't  know 
anything  about  it," 
was  the  reply;  'and 
if  he  does,  I  can  man- 
age him  all  right." 

Unfortunately  Mr. 
Bunny  was  one  of 
the  crowd  who  turn- 
ed up  to  watch  the 
race.  While  waiting 
on  the  pier  for  the 
start  he  missed  his 
daughter,  but  con- 
cluded that  she  had 
found  friends  some- 
where. Presently 
Cutey,  in  his  swim- 
ming costume,  came 
along,  and  Mr. 
Bunny,    feeling 

particularly  cordial  to  the  young  fellow  just 
then,  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
wished  him  luck.  He  was  so  much  inter- 
ested in  Cutey  that  he  did  not  notice  another 
competitor  slip  past  him.  This  competitor 
was  enveloped  in  a  big  ulster  and  had  a  man's 
cap  pulled  well  down  over  the  eyes.  Cutey 
escaped  from  Mr.  Bunny,  and  followed. 

The  crowd  gathered  at  the  point  on  the 
pier  where  the  race  was  to  finish,  and  Mr. 
Bunny  was  in  the  front  row.  As  thfr 
swimmers  approached  he  cheered  and  shouted,^ 
and  became  so  much  excited  that  he  was  in 
imminent  danger  of  pitching  head-foremost 
into  the  water. 

Presently  one  swimmer  drew  away  from 
the  others,  and  came  towards  the  pier, 
cleaving  the  water  with  a  strong,  clean 

"Beautiful !  "  cried  Mr.  Bunny.  "Never 
saw  finer  swimming  in  my  life  !  " 

It  was  his  hand  that  helped  the  swimmer 
up  the  steps. 

"  Bravo ! "  he  cried  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Magnificent !     Mag " 

He  never  finished  the  word,  for  there,, 
standing  before  him  on  the  pier,  clad  in  a. 
costume  as  scanty  as  any  ever  seen  at 
Trouville,  was  Miss  Tomboy  herself,  his- 
daughter ! 

To  say  that  Mr.  Bunny  was  shocked  is  to- 
give   a   hopelessly   inadequate   idea   of   his 

What  the  devil  is  this  ?'  he  cried. 



feelings.  He  was  horrified,  scandalised. 
His  jolly  old  face  was  one  vast  blush.  What 
on  earth  would  people  say  1 

As  a  matter  of  fact  people  were  delighted. 
They  cheered  Miss  Tomboy  to  the  echo. 

Mr.  Bunny  struggled  for  words,  but 
succeeded  only  in  producing  a  series  of 
disjointed  and  furious  exclamations.  He 
brushed  his  daughter's  attempted  explan- 
ations angrily  aside. 

His  daughter  !  Standing  there  with  all 
these  people  staring  at  her !  He  tore  off 
his  coat  and  flung  it  around  her.  Then  at 
last  he  managed  to  speak. 

"  Go  and — put  some  clothes  on." 
For  this  escapade  Miss  Tomboy  was 
sentenced  to  solitary  confinement  in  her 
own  room  until  such  time  as  she  should 
profess  a  proper  penitence,  and  give  a 
solemn  undertaking  to  mend  her  ways.  To 
make  her  captivity  the  more  secure  Mr. 
Bunny  took  all  her  outdoor  clothes  away  and 
locked  the  door  of  her  room,  after  telling  her 
that  her  meals  would  be  brought  to  her  by 
the    servants. 

When  you  have  come  to  your  senses," 
he  called,  "  you  can  let  me  know," 

Here  was  a  nice  position  for  poor  Miss 
Tomboy  !  All  sorts  of  fun  going  on  in  the 
world  outside  and  she  was  a  prisoner  in 
her  room,  debarred  from  any  share  in  it.  At 
first  she  hoped  that  her  father  would  relent, 
but  as  the  day  wore  away  she  realised  that 
he  really  meant  to  be  firm  this  time.  She 
hoped  that  Cutey  would  find  out  where  she 
was,  at  any  rate,  then  something  might 
happen.  She  had  great  faith  in  Cutey's 
ingenuity  and  inventiveness. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  of 
her  imprisonment  that  she  heard  his  low 
whistle  in  the  garden  outside.  She  rushed 
to  the  open  window.  With  a  gesture  he 
imposed  silence.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  caught 
there  by  Mr.  Bunny.  He  held  up  something 
in  his  hand,  and  then  threw  it  so  that  it 
fell  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Miss  Tomboy 
pounced  upon  it  and  found  a  note  wrapped 
around  a  peeble.  She  read  it  eagerly. 
"  Tommy  darling, 

"The  skipper  of  your  father's  yacht 
has  been  taken  suddenly  ill.  He  won't 
be  able  to  sail  the  boat  in  the  race  to- 
morrow. Your  father  has  set  his  heart 
on  winning,  and  he  doesn't  know  yet 
that  the  skipper  is  ill.  I've  thought  of 
a  splendid  idea.  Can't  you  manage 
somehow  to  get  out  and  sail  the  yacht  1 

I'm  sure  you  can  win  with  her,  and  your 
father  will  be  so  delighted  that  he'll 
forgive  us,  and  everything  will  be  right 
again.     Do  manage  it  somehow. 

"  Cutey." 
Miss  Tomboy  agreed  with  Cutey  that  it 
was  a  splendid  idea.  It  would  be  an 
adventure  after  her  own  heart.  But  it  was 
of  no  use  thinking  about  it.  She  almost 
cried.  The  reply  which  she  threw  down 
to  Cutey  into  the  garden  was  this  : 

"  How  can   I  get  out  ?     My  clothes 
have  all  been  taken  away." 
This  was  a  facer,  indeed  !     Still,  Cutey 
was   a   lad    of    resource.       Presently    Miss 
Tomboy  got  another  note  : 

'  I  will  bring  you  some  clothes  to- 
night, and  come  and  meet  you  in  the 
morning.     We'll  go  straight  away    to 
the  yacht." 
An    hour   passed    before    Miss    Tomboy 
heard    Cutey's    whistle   again.      When   she 
went  to  the  window  he  threw  up  a  ball  of 

'  Pull,"  he  whispered. 
She  hauled  up  a  big  brown  paper  parcel. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  that  she  had  it   safely, 
Cutey  disappeared. 

As  Miss  Tomboy  cut  the  string  of  the 
parcel  she  felt  some  curiosity  as  to  what 
Cutey's  taste  in  clothes  would  prove  to  be. 
She  hoped  the  colours  would  suit  her.  She 
gave  a  little  scream  of  delight,  all  to  herself, 
when  she  saw  what  was  in  the  parcel. 
Trousers !  White  duck  trousers,  a  navy- 
blue  reefer  coat,  a  yachtman's  white  sweater 
and  the  duckiest  little  stocking  cap !  She 
tried  on  the  cap  first,  and  found  that  she 
could  tuck  her  curls  away  in  it  without 
trouble.  She  put  on  the  other  things. 
They  fitted  her  splendidly,  and  she  decided 
she  was  rather  a  nice-looking  boy.  It  had  not 
struck  her  before  that  this  was  an  adventure 
in  which  skirts  would  be  out  of  place,  but  she 
saw  now  that  it  offered  the  only  chance 
of  outwitting  her  father,  who,  though  he 
would  not  be  on  board  the  yacht,  was  sure 
to  be  watching  the  race.  She  did  not  want 
him  to  know  who  was  sailing  the  yacht 
until  the  race  was  over.  If  she  could 
manage  to  win,  she  told  herself,  she  would 
not  care  how  angry  he  might  be.  And 
perhaps,  as  Cutey  suggested,  he  might  be  so 
pleased  that  he  would  forgive  them  both. 
Anyhow,  it  was  going  to  be  splendid  fun  ! 

Her    tree-climbing  practice  stood  her  in 
good  stead  next  morning.     The  door  of  her 



room  being  locked,  she  had  to  leave  by  the 
window,  and  to  clamber  down  into  the 
garden  by  way  of  the  porch.  Cutey  was 
waiting  for  her,  and  they  hurried  off  together 
to  the  harbour,  and  were  soon  on  board  the 

The  crew  welcomed  their  new  "  skipper  " 
enthusiastically,  so  enthusiastically  that  Miss 
Tomboy  wondered  whether  her  disguise 
was  as  good  as  she  had  imagined. 

There  was  plenty  of  time  yet  before  the 
race  would  begin,  and  Cutey  and  the 
"  skipper "  had  a  look  round  to  see  that 
everything  on  board,  every  spar  and  sail 
and  rope,  was  sound  and  shipshape. 

Cutey  suggested  a  preliminary  cruise  to 
try  the  yacht's  paces.  The  moorings  were 
cast  loose,  and  the  trim  little  vessel  stood 
out  to  sea. 

"  She'll  go  well  in  this  breeze,"  said  Cutey. 
"  By  jove,  Tommy,  won't  it  be  ripping  if 
you  win  !  You  will  win,  too !  There's  nothing 
in  the  race  that  can  beat  this  boat  to-day. 
Your  father  will  be  so  pleased  that  he'll  do 
anything  you  like." 

As  Cutey  spoke  he  had  a  look  through 
the  glasses  at  the  pier-head.  "He's  there," 
he  said.  '  Lord  !  won't  it  be  a  treat  to  see 
his  face  when  he  knows  who  has  been  sail- 
ing his  boat !  " 

There's  the  get-ready  gun,"  he  said,  five 
minutes  later.  '  We'd  better  get  some- 
where near  the  mark." 

Miss  Tomboy  brought  the  yacht  cleverly 
about  and  ran  her  down  towards  what 
Cutey  had  called  the  mark,  which  was  an 
imaginary  line  between  the  pier-head  and  a 
flag-ship,  about  a  hundred  yards  out  at  sea. 
The  "skipper"  managed  so  well  that  the 
yacht  crossed  the  mark  as  the  startmg-gun 
fired,  and  was  first  away,  heading  towards 
the  first  buoy. 

"  Good  ! "  said  Mr.  Bunny,  rubbing  his 
hands,  too  much  occupied  in  watching  the 
yacht  to  notice  who  was  at  the  tiller. 

Miss  Tomboy  brought  into  play  that  day 
all  the  tricks  of  seamanship  she  had  learned 
from  her  father's  skipper,  and  showed  a 
knowledge  of  the  tides  and  currents  which 
made  Cutey  regard  her  with  respectful 
admiration.  She  took  advantage  of  every 
ounce  of  wind,  and  showed  the  way  to  all 
the  other  boats  in  the  race. 

Three  times  round  the  course  they  had  to 
go,  passing  between  the  pier  and  the  flag- 
ship at  the  end  of  every  round.  Mr. 
Bunny's  heart  swelled  with  pride  as  mem- 

bers of  the  club  complimented  him  on  the 
speed  of  his  yacht  and  the  clever  way  in 
which  she  was  handled. 

"  Who's  sailing  her?"  asked  one.  "Clever 
young  chap,  whoever  he  is." 

"  Young  chap !  "  said  Mr.  Bunny.  "  Why, 
it's  the  regular  skipper,  the  one  who  always 
sails  her." 

Well,  he's  grown  younger  then,"  was  the 
reply.  '  And  he's  shaved  his  beard  and 
moustache.  This  chap  looks  no  more  than 
a  boy.  You  have  a  look  when  the  boat 
comes  round  again.  But  somebody  told  me 
your  skipper  was  too  ill  to  race  to-day." 

"  It's  the  first  I've  heard  of  it,"  said  Mr. 

When  his  boat  completed  the  second 
round,  and  shot  past  the  pier  well  ahead  of 
all  competitors,  Mr.  Bunny  stared  very  hard 
at  the  trim  figure  with  the  natty  stocking 
cap  who  was  at  the  helm.  He  could  not 
make  out  who  it  was  at  all.  He  concluded 
at  last  that  his  skipper,  finding  himself 
unable  to  take  part  in  the  race,  had  sent 
this  young  fellow  as  a  substitute. 

"  So  long  as  the  yacht  wins,  I  don't  care," 
he  thought.  '  And  whoever  it  is  that  is 
sailing  the  boat,  he  knows  his  business.  If 
he  wins  I'll  do  the  handsome  thing,  by 
Jove  !  I  will." 

Throughout  the  last  round  his  binoculars 
were  constantly  in  use.  He  hardly  took  his 
eyes  off"  the  yacht,  and  when  she  passed  the 
pier  for  the  third  time,  and  the  gun  fired  to 
announce  that  the  cup  was  actually  his,  he 
felt  like  dancing  a  hornpipe.  He  reflected 
in  time,  however,  that  for  a  man  of  his 
figure,  such  a  performance  would  be  undigni- 
fied in  the  last  degree. 

Miss  Tomboy,  having  won  the  race, 
brought  the  yacht  round  in  a  brace  of 
shakes,  and  headed  her  for  the  harbour. 
As  she  passed  the  pier-head  Mr.  Bunny, 
making  a  megaphone  of  his  hands,  yelled, 
"  Come  to  me,  here,  when  you're  ready." 

Cutey  waved  a  hand  in  acknowledgment. 

When  the  yacht  was  moored,  and  Miss 
Tomboy  had  received  the  congratulations  of 
Cutey  and  the  crew,  she  said,  "  Now  for  it ! 
I  wonder  what  he'll  say." 

They  got  into  the  dingy  and  rowed  to  the 
steps  at  the  pier-head.  Mr.  Bunny  was 
waiting  for  them  at  the  top,  his  face  beam- 
ing. But  when  Cutey  and  the  skipper " 
appeared,  the  joy  of  the  victor  changed  to 
the  anger  of  the  father.  The  "  skipper's  " 
hail'  had  somehow   escaped    from    the    cap 



and  streamed  down  over  her  shoulders. 
The  "  skipper "  stood  confessed  as  Miss 
Tomboy  herself ! 

Mr.  Bunny  forgot  all  about  the  yacht,  and 
even  all  about  the  cup.  He  positively 
danced  with  rage. 

"  What  the  devil  is  this  1 "  he  cried. 
Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  coming 
here  in  those  clothes  ?  And  how  dare  you 
leave  the  house  without  my  permission  ? " 

"  I  won  the  race  though,  Uad,"  remarked 

Miss  Tomboy,  with  charming  impudence. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Mr.  Bunny,  furiously. 
"  I  won't  stand  any  more  of  it.  I'll  send 
you  away.     I'll " 

But  Miss  Tomboy  and  Cutey  had  fled. 

Mr.  Bunny,  thinking  the  matter  over 
afterwards,  decided  that  the  time  had  come 
for  him  to  put  his  foot  down  firmly  and  un- 
compromisingly. Miss  Tomboy  must  be 
told  that  she  was  to  marry  Van  Alstyne. 
{To  be  concluded). 

TITALTER  EDWIN,  the  Edison  director,  is 
*  *  thinking  seriously  of  enlisting.  His 
recent  experience  at  the  head  of  the 
Prussian  Cavalry  (?)  of  "Frederick  the  Great," 
an  Edison  two-reeler,  released  September  7th, 
leads  him  to  believe  that  he  could  cope  with 
international  situations  single-handed.  This 
sumptuouslj'  clad  and  elegantly  mounted  body  of 
cavalry  was  trotting  in  a  country  road  to  indulge 
in  a  friendh'  battle  scene  when  they  were 
suddenly  confronted  by  a  large  bull.  Several  of 
the  horses  became  unmanageable,  and  the  column 
was  speedily  routed.  Edwin,  however,  succeeded 
in  executing  a  flank  movement  which  put  the 
bull  to  fliglit.  He  is  positive  that  he  would  be 
equallj'  successful  in  real  warfaie. 

WS.  HART,  the  famous  Western  character 
•  actor,  has  joined  the  New  York  Motion 
Picture  forces  in  California.  He  will 
be  featured  immediately  in  some  of  the  most 
important  Western  dramas  written  and  pro- 
duced by  Thomas  H.  Ince.  Mr.  Hart's  stage 
experience  covers  a  period  of  twenty-one  years. 
Most  of  this  time  he  gave  impersonations  of  the 
rugged  men  of  the  country  beyond  the  Rockies. 
His  earh'  reputation  was  made  in  support  of 
such  illustrious  stars  as  Modjeska  and  Rhea. 
More  recently  he  delighted  theatre  goers  with 
his  strong  convincing  work  in  the  original  pro- 
ductions of  "The  Squaw  Man"  and  "The 
Virginian."  Mr.  Hart  is  Western  born,  and 
many  of  his  characters  are  studies  direct  from 
life.  He  will  be  starred  in  Broncho,  Kay-Bee 
and  Domino  films,  and  is  regarded  as  a  great 
acquisition  to  the  forces  controlled  by  Thomas 
H.   Ince. 

A  NDY  CLARK,  of  the  Edison  Company, 
-^^-  who  is  being  featured  in  the  "Andy" 
comedies,  is  a  baseball  enthusiast.  Just 
at  this  season,  when  he  is  not  being  filmed,  he  is 
usually  to  be  found  in  the  neighbourhood  near 
the  Edison  stnidio  playing  baseball.  This  is 
considered  by  him  to  be  the  chief  of  all  sports. 

"lY/TlSS  LILLIAN  WALKER,  the  Vitagraph 
-*--*■  motion  picture  star,  whose  porti-ait  ap- 
peared in  our  July  number,  was  born  in 
Brooklyn,  N.Y.,  on  April  21st,  1888.  She  is  of 
Swedish  descent,  the  name  Walker  being  the 
Americanised  version  of  her  family  name,  Wolke. 
She  was  educated  in  the  Brooklyn  public  schools 
and  the  Erasmus  High  School.  Her  first  position 
was  as  a  telephone  operator.  Later  she  became 
a  professional  model,  and  from  that  she  drifted 
on  the  stage,  her  first  engagement  being  in  "Tho 
Little  Organ  Grinder,"  in  which  her  fellow  star, 
Maurice  Costello,  was  the  leading  man.  Her 
next  theatrical  engagement  was  in  comic  opera, 
from  which  she  entered  vaudeville.  Travelling 
soon  grew  tiresome,  so  she  again  worked  as  a 
model.  While  thus  engaged  she  applied  to  the 
Vitagraph  Company  for  an  engagement.  She 
was  accepted,  and  her  first  picture  was  playing 
opposite  Mr.  Costello  in  a  drama  entitled,  "  The 
Inherited  Taint."  She  was  exceptionally  suc- 
cessful, and  since  her  rise  to  stellar  honours  has 
been  rapid  and  sure.  She  has  appeared  in  almost 
two  hundred  pictures,  her  best  effort  being  as 
Miss  Tomboy  in  "  The  Adventures  of  Miss  Tom- 
boy." In  this  she  accomplishes  much  which 
even  great  screen  ai'tistes  will  never  attempt. 
It  is  a  marvellous  performance. 

Throughout  the  world  Miss  Walker  is  known 
as  "Dimples,"  a  nickname  honestly  earned. 
She  is  an  excellent  swimmer,  a  fearless  horse- 
woman, a  splendid  automobile  driver,  and  an 
exceptional  dancer. 

T^O  you  like  coffee  ?  Drop  in  at  the  Edison 
■*— '  studio  any  afternoon  and  have  a  cup  with 
Miriam  Nesbitt.  When  j'ou  are  invited 
in  you  will  find  the  coffee-pot  steaming  merrily 
over  an  electric  stove,  presided  over  by  a  [jovert}'- 
stricken  widow  or  a  radiant  society  beauty  — 
according  to  the  part  that  the  hostess  happens  to 
be  playing  that  day.  But  alwaj's  there  will  be 
the  charming  Nesbitt  personality — and  unsur- 
passable coffee. 

The  Acid  Test. 

From  the  VITAGRAPH  Photoplay.      Adapted  hy   James  Cooper, 

The  story  shows  how  a  self-sacrificing  wife  endured 
the  crucial  test  of  misfortune  which  her  millionaire 
husband  employed  to  discover  whether  she  had 
married  for  love  or  money,  and  how  in  the  result 
the  heart  of  her  husband  was  won. 

RACE  ASHTON  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  must 
marry  money.  She  wanted 
money  indeed  much  more  than 
she  wanted  to  be  married. 
She  had  no  desire  to  give  up 
her  freedom,  to  change  the  life  which  was 
so  pleasant  to  her  for  one,  which,  however 
solid  and  substantial  its  advantages  (if  she 
married  the  right  man),  would  certainly 
have  its  drawbacks  as  well. 

It  will  be  seen  that  love  did  not  enter 
into  the  lady's  calculations.  She  looked  at 
the  matter,  as  she  would  have  said,  sensibly. 
Some  people,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  would 
have  said  she  was  cold-blooded.  Certainly 
there  was  no  excess  of  sentiment  about  her. 
She  considered  the  case,  for  and  against 
marriage,  as  calmly  and  dispassionately  as  a 
man  of  business  weighs  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  a  projected  investment. 
And  she  made  her  decision,  as  has  been 

Money  she  must  have.  She  had  expensive 
tastes,  loved  beautiful  clothes  and  the 
pleasures  of  society.  The  small  fortune  left 
her  by  her  father  was  growing  smaller,  for 
the  income  proving  insufficient  for  her,  she 
had  drawn  upon  the  capital.  The  state  of 
her  finances  had  begun  to  be  a  source  of 
anxiety,  and  after  much  thought  she  could 
see  only  two  alternatives — a  marriage  or 
severe  economy.     Therefore — marriage. 

She  had  an  abundance  of  suitors.  Her 
beauty  and  charm  were  undeniable,  and 
wherever  she  went  she  always  had  her 
bodyguard  of  men.  Several,  she  knew, 
were  in  love  with  her,  and  only  waiting  an 
opportunity  to  speak.  She  herself  was 
heart-whole,  and  much  too  sensible  to  allow 
herself  to  fall  in  love  with  any  man  without 
being  first  assured  that  his  financial  status 
was  satisfactory.  And  as  she  mentally  ran 
over  the  list  of  the  men  who  were  accustomed 
to  dance  attendance  upon  her,  she  decided 

that  none  of  them  came  under  that  category. 

There  was  Jack  Huston,  for  instance, 
who  was  coming  to  call  for  her  presently  to 
take  her  to  the  Lotus  Club  ball.  He  was  a 
pleasant  enough  fellow  in  his  way,  and  was 
her  devoted  slave.  But  life  with  him  Avould 
be  at  best  only  genteel  poverty. 

She  had  got  so  far  in  her  thoughts  when 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
boudoir,  and  her  maid  entered  with  a  visiting 
card  and  a  big  cardboard  box.  The  card 
(xrace  acknowledged  with  a  shrug  of  her 
beautiful  shoulders.  It  was  that  of  Mr. 
Jack  Huston  himself.  The  maid  cut  the 
string,  opened  the  box,  and  produced  a 
wonderful  bouquet  of  roses.  Grace  looked 
at  them  without  interest,  selected  one  or 
two  to  wear,  and  went  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Huston  was  sitting.  She 
acknowledged  with  a  little  smile  his  com- 
pliment upon  her  appearance,  thanked  him 
for  his  gift  without  enthusiasm,  and  suffered 
him  to  put  her  cloak  over  her  shoulders. 
Then  they  went  out  together. 

A  taxi-cab  was  waiting,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  had  arrived  at  the  Lotus  Club. 
If  Huston  had  imagined  that  his  privilege  as 
her  escort  carried  any  proprietary  rights  he 
was  quickly  undeceived,  for  Grace  was  soon 
the  centre  of  a  group  of  men  begging  for 
dances.  Huston  found  himself  only  one  of 
the  crowd,  and  on  the  outskirts  at  that.  He 
looked  on  jealously  while  she  talked  and 
laughed  with  the  others.  His  chance  came 
a  little  later,  but  he  did  not  get  much 
satisfaction  out  of  it.  Instead  of  the  three 
or  four  dances  for  which  he  had  hoped,  she 
only  promised  him  one,  and  he  scribbled  his 
initials  disconsolately  in  the  latter  half  of 
her  programme. 

"  I  think  you  might  have  spared  me  more 
than  one,'"'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  '  I  have 
been  looking  forward  to  this  ball,  and  I 
thought "  he  paused. 

"  Yes,  what  did  you  think?" 



"  Well,  I  thought  I  might  have  had  the 
supper  dance  at  any  rate." 

Grace  laughed.  "  Oh,  well,  you  know,  I 
can't  give  everyone  the  supper  dance.  You 
should  have  asked  before.  First  come  first 

But  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  and  now  I 
shall  have  no  chance.     It  makes  me  mad  to 

at  arm's  length  for  so  long,  had  determined 
on  this  night  to  push  matters  to  a  crisis. 
And  this  one,  when  they  were  sitting  on  a 
settee  in  one  of  the  ante-rooms  after  the 
dance,  began  to  make  love  to  her  with  a  cool 
assurance  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  had 
no  fear  of  a  refusal. 

She  decided  that  the  best  thing  she  could 

"Wherever  she  went  she  ahvaj's  had  a  bodyguard  of  men." 

tsee  all  these  other  men  round  you." 

Grace  glanced  round  to  make  sure  that 
nobody  was  within  earshot,  and  Huston 
went  on  in  some  agitation. 

"  Look  here,  Grace,  I  must  speak.  You 
can't  hold  me  off  any  longer."  He  gripped 
her  arm.     "  Can't  you  see  I " 

He  let  go  her  arm  with  an  impatient 
exclamation  as  Grace's  first  partner  came  to 
claim  her.  The  newcomer  took  in  the 
situation  at  a  glance. 

"  Hope  I  don't  intrude,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh.    "  It's  our  dance,  Miss  Ashton." 

Vastly  relieved,  Grace  took  his  arm,  and 
they  went  off  to  the  Itallroom,  while  Huston, 
cursing  inwardly,  betook  himself  to  the 

Grace's  new  cavalier,  however,  proved  as 
embarrassing  to  her  as  Huston  had  been.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  the  men  whom  she  had  been 
playing  off  against  one  another,  and  keeping 

do  was  to  affect  to  treat  his  proposal  as  a 
joke.  She  astonished  him  by  bursting  out 

"  How  well  you  do  it,"  she  said  merrily. 
"  You  must  have  practised  a  lot." 

He  sprang  up  with  an  angry  protest  on  his 
lips — a  protest  which  remained  unspoken. 
As  he  had  interrupted  Huston's  avowal,  so 
he  himself  was  now  interrupted.  One  of  the 
M.C.s  approached,  accompanied  by  a  man 
Grace  had  never  seen  before. 

"Miss  Ashton,"  said  the  M.C.,"'lAvantto 
present  Mr.  Marston  to  you.  You've  heard 
of  him,  I  daresay." 

Grace  had  heard  of  him.  The  whole  town 
had  heard  of  bin',  and  had  been  talking  of 
little  else  for  days.  He  was  a  mine  owner, 
and  had  come  from  somewhere  out  West.  He 
wasamillionaire  several  times  over,  a  bachelor, 
and  according  to  popular  report,  he  was 
looking  for  a  wife.    He  was  the  catch  of  the 



season.  People  said  he  had  roughed  it  in  his 
early  days,  but  he  had  the  manners  of  a  gentle- 
man and  the  look  of  a  man  who  generally  got 
what  he  wanted. 

What  he  wanted  now,  it  seemed,  was  to 
talk  to  Grace  Ashton.  The  M.C.  had  gone 
back  to  the  ballroom,  and  Grace's  late  partner, 
who  had  stood  glowering  at  them  fora  minute 
or  two,  had  also  disappeared.  The  millionaire 
wasted  no  time. 

Let's  sit  down  and  talk,"  he  said,  and  led 
her  to  the  settee  from  which  she  had  risen 
on  his  appearance. 

Grace's  mind  had  been  working  rapidly. 

She  determined  to  be  very  nice  to  Mr.Marston. 

I  meant  to  get  to  know  you,"  he  said. 

I  saw  you  when  you  first  came.  I'd  have 
got  somebody  to  introduce  me  then,  but  I'm 
not  a  dancing  man.  I  suppose  you  are  very 
fond  of  it?  You  can  send  me  off  when  your 
partner  comes,  you  know." 

Grace  smiled  and  handed  him  her 
programme.  "You  may  have  the  next," 
she  said.  There  happens  to  be  a  vacant 

That's  charming  of  you."  He  wrote  his 
initials.     "And  shall  we  sit  it  out?" 

If  you  think  you  won't  be  bored,"  laughed 

Not  I.  There's  more  danger  of  that  for 
you.  You  see  I'm  not  much  used  to  this 
sort  of  thing.  It's  a  good  many  years  since 
I  went  to  a  ball.  I've  had  other  things  to  do." 
Yes  ? "  she  said  interrogatively,  when  he 
paused,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  then  what 
other  things  he  had  done.  Instead,  looking 
at  her  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  he  said  :  "  I 
wonder  if  you'd  give  me  one  of  those  roses." 

Considering  that  he  had  known  her  only 
about  five  minutes,  the  request  was  a  little 
unusual,  but  there  was  a  simplicity  and 
directness  in  his  manner  which  quite  robbed 

of  any  suggestion  of  oflfence.  Rather  to 
her  own  surprise,  Grace  found  herself  handing 
the  rose  to  him. 

'  And  now,"  she  said,  "  in  return  for  that, 
you  must  tell  me  something  about  your  life 
out  West.  It  must  be  awfully  exciting.  It 
must  be  a  better  life  for  a  man  than  the  life 
led  by  most  of  the  men  I  know.  They  play 
games,  and  flirt,  and  gossip  at  their  clubs,  and 
these  things  fill  up  their  days.  They  are 
not  the  men  who  do  things." 

There  was  a  subtle  flattery  in  this  to  which 
Marston  was  not  insensible,  any  more  than 
he  was  to  the  look  of  admiration  in  Grace's 
eyes  as  she  spoke  the  words. 

Marston  was  a  strong  man,  and  a  clever 
one.  In  his  dealings  with  men  he  had 
seldom  met  his  match  ;  where  women  were 
concerned,  however,  any  society  butterfly 
could  have  taught  him  many  things.  He 
trusted  Grace  absolutely,  and  fell  an  easy 
victim.  During  the  rest  of  the  evening  he 
took  every  opportunity  of  being  with  Grace, 
and  when  she  announced  her  intention  of 
leaving,  he  begged  her  to  let  him  drive  her 
home  in  his  car. 

Huston  had  not  appeared  to  claim  his 
dance.  Grace  had  indeed  almost  forgotten 
his  existence.  If  she  thought  of  him  at  all, 
it  was  with  a  fervent  hope  that  he  would  not 
cross  her  path  again  that  night. 

No  such  luck  !  She  was  just  leaving  the 
cloakroom  with  Marston  when  Huston  came 
in  with  a  number  of  other  men.  His  face 
was  flushed,  his  hair  rather  disordered,  and 
he  was  talking  loudly.  Suddenly  he  caught 
sight  of  Marston  and  Grace,  and  walked 
towards  them  scowling. 

You're  not  going  home   already  1  "  he 
said  to  Grace.     "  What  about  my  dance  ?  " 

Grace  turned  her  back  on  him  and  said 
something  to  Marston.  The  millionaire 
looked  at  Huston. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  coolly,  "  Miss  Ashton  is 
going  home  under  my  escort.  Have  you  any 
objection  ? " 

Huston  blustered.    "  Yes,  I  have,"  he  said. 
She  came  here  with  me,  and  I'm  going  to 
sec  her  home." 

"  That  is  for  the  lady  to  decide,"  retorted 

Huston  attempted  to  thrust  Marston 
aside,  but  the  mine  owner  put  out  an  arm 
and  forced  him  back.  Don't  make  a 
disturbance  here,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  think 
you  are  sober." 

Huston  was  furious.  He  clenched  his 
fists  and  would  have  rushed  at  Marston,  but 
the  other  men  held  him  back,  and  he  ground 
his  teeth  with  a  curse  as  Grace  went  off  with 
the  millionaire  without  casting  a  look  in  his 

*  *         * 

In  a  week  Marston's  engagement  to 
Grace  was  announced.  It  caused  some 
excitement  at  the  Lotus  Club,  and  Huston 
bore,  with  an  ill  grace,  the  chaff"  with  which 
he  was  unmercifully  overwhelmed. 

Marston,  who  had  been  made  an  honorary 
member  of  the  club,  recei\ed  the  conventional 
congratulations  from  everybody  except  his 
great   friend,    Ned    Connor,    who    declared 



roundly  that  Grace  was  a  heartless  flirt,  and 
had  set  her  cap  at  Marston  because  of  his 
money.  The  millionaire,  however,  would 
not  believe  it,  and  angrily  refused  to  hear  a 
word  against  the  giil.  He  was,  so  Connor 
declared,  infatuated.  Marston  went  off  in 
a  rage  with  his  best  friend,  and  more  in 
love  with  Grace  than  ever. 

They  were  married.  Grace  Ashton  had 
succeeded.  She  was  now  Grace  Marston, 
wife  of  a  millionaire. 

Part  H. 

IT  was  on  their  honeymoon  that  Marston 
began  to  have  misgivings.  His  wife 
seemed  to  care  little  for  his  society, 
and  to  welcome  any  opportunity  to  escape 
from  it.  She  treated  him  coldly  and 
received  his  protests  with  airy  indifference. 
He  lavished  his  wealth  upon  her,  bought 
her  expensive  presents,  and  did  everything 
he  could  think  of  to  please  her.  She 
accepted  all  this  as  her  due,  but  never 
thanked  him  by  so  much  as  a  loving  word 
or  look.  He  might  as  well  have  married  an 
iceberg,  he  told  himself  bitterly. 

One  day,  when  her  ignoring  of  him  hadbeen 
more  than  usually  plain,  he  recalled  what 
Ned  Connor  had  said.  Ned  had  warned  him 
not  to  marry  her.  He  had  said  she  was 
heartless,  and  only  wanted  his  money.  Was 
it  true  1 

Marston  had  taken  a  house  in  the  town 
where  he  and  Grace  had  first  met.  They 
went  back  there  after  the  honeymoon.  He 
had  hoped  that  when  they  were  in  their  own 
home  Grace  would  be  different,  but  she 
plunged  headlong  into  a  whirl  of  gaieties. 
His  part,  she  let  him  see  plainly,  was  to  make 
plans  for  her  amusement,  to  pay  the  bills,  and 
to  be  ready  to  accompany  her  when  an  escort 
was  required.  He,  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  rule  men,  was  now  expected  to  be  trotted 
about  as  the  slave  of  a  woman.  That  he 
loved  her  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul  only 
made  his  slavery  the  harder  to  bear. 

They  went  one  night  to  another  ball  at  the 
Lotus  Club.  Giace  flirted  outrageously,  and 
with  Huston  of  all  men.  Marston  thought 
it  was  time  to  interfere,  but  at  his  first  word 
she  turned  her  back  on  him  and  walked  off 
with  Huston. 

Mrs.  Marston  made  the  mistake  of  judging 
her  husband  by  the  standard  of  the  other 
men  she  knew.  But  he  was  made  of 
different  stuff.  There  came  a  time  when  he 
decided  to  put  his  wife  to  the  test,  to  see  if 
it  was  really  only  his  money  she  wanted,  or 
if  he  himself  had  any  place  in  her  affections. 

His  wife  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  a 
new  play,  of  which  the  whole  town  was 
talking.  He  promised  to  take  her,  and  as 
he  would  be  occupied  in  town  until  the 
evening  on  important  business,  it  was  agreed 

"And  now  in  return  for  tiie  rose,  you  must  tell  me  something  of  j'our  life.'" 



that  she  should  meet  him  at  the  theatre. 

Marston   was  there    early,  but   though   he 

waited  about  in  the  entrance  hall  until  half- 

■an-hour  after  the  play  had  begun,  his  wife 

did  not  appear.     At  last  he  gave  up  hope 

and    went   home. 

Grace    was    not   in, 

and  in  answer  to  his 

enquiry,    her     maid 

told    him    that   she 

had   gone  out   to    a 

bridge      party     and 

would  not  be  home 

until  late. 

He  showed  no 
sign  of  feeling  when 
the  maid  gave  him 
the  information,  but 
afterwards  in  his 
own  "  den  "  he  de- 
cided that  he  would 
stand  it  no  longer. 
How  he  wished  he 
had  heeded  Ned 
Connor's  warning. 
It  was  then  that 
the  idea  of  testing 
her  occurred  to  him.  He  could  not  even  now 
believe  that  she  was  utterly  indifferent  to 
him.     This  night  should  decide  it. 

"  So  youVe  come  back,"  he  said,  when 
Grace  returned  some  hours  later.  Had  a 
good  time  ? " 

Grace  was  drawing  off  her  gloves.  '  Pretty 
fair,  thanks,"  she  answered,  coolly. 

''  I  waited  for  you  at  the  theatre." 

"  The  theatre?"  she  rejoined,  wonderingly. 
Why,  of  course — with  a  laugh — I  forgot." 

His  face  darkened.  "  It  doesn't  strike 
me  as  amusing,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the 
maid  entered  with  a  telegram,  which  she 
handed  to  Marston  and  withdrew.  He 
opened  it  and  gave  an  exclamation. 

What   is   the   matter  1 "   asked   Grace. 
The  look  on  his  face  had  scared  her. 

He  handed  her  the  telegram. 
Mine  petered  out,"  she  read.     "  Plant 
seized  by  creditors." 

What  does  it  mean?  "she  asked  anxiously. 

It  means  that  1  am  ruined,"  he  answered. 

Good  God  !    Every  penny  I  have  is  in  the 

mine.      Everybody   thought   it   was    worth 


I  le  had  expected  her  to  weep,  to  reproach 
him,  to  do  anything,  in  fact,  .rather  than 
Avhat  she  did  do.     She  sat  down  at  a  desk, 

opened  a  drawer,  took  something  from  it, 
and  wrote  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  she 
stood  up,  and,  still  without  looking  at  him, 
held  out  a  slip  of  paper. 

''  What's  this  1"  he  asked,  as  he  took  the 


He  handed  her  the  telegram." 


"  A  cheque,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  have  a 
little  money  of  my  own,  you  know.  Not 
very  much,  I'm  afraid,  but  perhaps  it  will 
help.     I  want  you  to  take  it." 

But — but — hang  it  !     I  can't." 
Isn't  it  of  any  use  1 " 
Oh,  it's  not  that — but  all  your  money — 
it's  splendid  of  you,  but " 

"  Do  take  it.     I — I  want  to  help." 

He  nearly  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
confessed  then  and  there,  but  she  still  kept 
her  back  turned  towards  him,  and  he  put  the 
cheque  in  his  pocket  and  went  out  of  the 

Next  morning  he  announced  his  intention 
of  going  to  Colorado  to  see  if  anything 
could  be  saved  from  the  wreck.  She  showed 
no  sign  of  emotion  as  she  wished  him  luck 
and  gave  him  a  cold  cheek  to  kiss. 

The  days  passed.  After  a  week  she 
received  a  telegram  from  him  : 

"Everything  lost.     Absolutely  ruined." 

She  broke  down  then,  but  whether  her 
grief  was  for  her  husband's  sake  or  her  own 
it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say.  But  when 
he  came  back  she  went  to  him  as  he  entered 
the  room  and  kissed  him  of  her  own  accord, 
for  the  first  time  since  they  had  been 
husband   and   wife.        Again    the    impulse 



■came  to  him  to  confess,  but  the  test  had 
not  gone  far  enough  yet. 

He  began  to  talk  to  her  about  their  future. 
They  would  be  poor — very  poor.  He  would 
have  to  start  all  over  again.  He  would 
make  another  fortune,  he  declared,  but  there 
would  be  hard  times  first. 

'  We  must  give  up  this  expensive  house," 
he  said.  ' '  We  shall  have  to  go  into  cheap 
apartments  for  a  time,  and  I  must  look  for 
work.  It  will  be  hard  for  you — very  hard. 
It  isn't  quite  fair,  perhaps.  Are  you  willing 
to  share  my  life?  You  can  have  your 
money  back  if  you  like,  j'ou  know." 

She  had  another  surprise  for  him.  Turning, 
she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Oh,  Tom,  don't  be  so  cruel,"  she  sobbed. 

It's  your  money  now.  I'll  go  with  you 
anywhere — I  want  to  go." 

Marstou  could  have  sung  for  happiness, 
but  he  held  himself  in. 

They  found  their  cheap  apartments,  and 
Grace  set  about  making  their  rooms  com- 
fortable and  home-like  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  she  had  never  shown  for  the  palatial 
house  they  had  left.  Marston  was  delighted, 
and  the  days  that  followed  were  the  happiest 
he  had  ever  known.  He  had  hard  work  to 
keep  up  the  deception. 

One  morning  after  they  had  eaten  their 
frugal  breakfast,  and  Marston  had  started 
out,  as  he  told  her,  to  look  for  work, 
Grace  went  into  the  town  to  do  her 
modest  shopping.  She  was  returning  when 
she  passed  Jack  Huston,  who  was  standing 
on  the  pavement  by  the  side  of  a  big  motor- 
car. She  did  not  see  him,  but  he  saw  her, 
and  jumping  into  the  car,  bade  the  chauflTeur 
keep  her  in  sight. 

Grace  had  only  been  indoors  long  enough 
to  remove  her  hat  when  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door.  She  opened  it,  and  Huston 
walked  in,  without  waitingfor  an  invitation. 
She  was  so  taken  aback  that  at  first  she 
could  not  find  words. 

So  this  is  where  you  have  hidden  your- 
self," he  said,  looking  contemptuously  about 
the  room.  '  You  don't  seem  to  have  made 
much  of  a  bargain,  after  all.  You'd  have 
done  better  to  have  married  me." 

"  I  don't  agree,  Mr.  Huston,"  Grace 
retorted.         I  married  a  gentleman." 

Huston  winced  at  that.     "  Well,  I  don't 

want  to  quarrel,"  he  said.  "Look  here, 
Grace,  this  is  no  place  for  you.  I  can't 
fancy  you  as  the  wife  of  a  poor  man.  Come 
away  with  me.  My  car  is  at  the  door.  I've 
come  into  a  fortune  since  I  saw  you  last.  I 
love  you,  and  I  can  give  you  every  luxury, 
everything  you  can  wish  for.  What  do  you 

Marston,  outside,  strained  his  ears  to  hear 
Grace's  reply.  He  had  seen  the  car  waiting 
in  the  street,  and  had  rushed  upstairs  and 
put  his  ear  to  the  door,  in  time  to  hear 
Huston's  infamous  proposal.  What  would 
be  Grace's  answer*? 

"  You  brute  ! "  he  heard  her  say.  '  How 
dare  you  make  such  a  suggestion  to  me  ! 
You  coward  !  To  think  your  money  could 
make  any  difference.  Why,  I'd  rather  be 
poor  with  my  husband  than  rich  with  any 
other  man  in  the  world  !  He's  worth 
ten  thousand  of  you  !  " 

Marston  heard  a  curse  and  a  scream,  and 
burst  into  the  room  to  find  his  wife  struggling 
in  Huston's  arms.  Red  flames  seemed  to 
dance  before  his  eyes.  He  sprang  at  the 
scoundrel  and  in  a  flash  had  him  by  the 
throat,  in  a  grip  of  iron.  He  would  have 
shaken  the  life  out  of  Huston  there  and 
then  if  Grace  had  not  stayed  his  hand. 

"  Let  him  go,  Tom,"  she  begged.  '  He's 
not  worth  it " 

Certainly  he  did  not  look  worth  much  as 
Marston,  exerting  all  his  strength,  flung  him 
across  the  room.  He  looked  a  still  more 
contemptible  object  when,  a  few  seconds 
later,  he  picked  himself  up  and,  edging  as 
far  away  from  Marston  as  he  could,  slunk 
out  of  the  room. 

Marston  turned  to  his  wife.  "  I've  a 
confession  to  make,"  he  said.  And  then  he 
told  her,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  nearly  confessed  a  score  of  times,"  he 
said,  "  but  I'm  glad  I  went  through  it  after 
all.     I  know  now  that  you're  true  gold." 

She  put  up  her  arms  and  diew  his  face 
down  to  hers. 

"  Tom,"  she  whispered,  "  I  love  you." 

It  was  some  minutes  afterwards  that  he 
said,  "  We  can  go  back  home  now." 

Giace  looked  round  the  shabby  little 
room,  and  laughed  rather  wistfully. 

"I  should  like  to  come  back  here  some- 
times," she  said  softly.  "  It  was  here  that 
I  learned  to  be  happy." 

One  of  Our  Girls. 

Adapted   from    the    FAMOUS    PLAYERS    Production 

by    Wm.    Orchard. 

An    American    girl    pays  a   visit    to    her    French 

relatives,  amazes  them  with  her  antics,  saves  the 

reputation   of  her  cousin,  and   marries   the   hero 

after  the  exposure  of  the  villain. 

ES,  the  maid  always  screams 
when  the  butler  kisses  her." 
Comte  de  Crebillon  bowed, 
with  a  deprecatory  gesture,  as 
he  made  the  explanation  to 
the  two  gentlemen  who  had 
run  into  the  garden  from  the  house  on  hearing 
a  piercing  scream.  The  Comte  smiled  indul- 
gently, and  the  alarmed  guests,  with  apologetic 
remarks  and  broad 
■■|^^H|^BBM  grins,  turned  back  to 
^^^fjR^^^H|  the  house.  1  he  Comte 
f  "v      ^^H     watched    them  for 

several  moments, 
then  the  studied  smile 
died  from  his  face, 
and  he  turned  back 
in  the  direction  of  the 
house,  remarking 
gloomily  : 

"  Well,   that  was  a 
narrow  escape.    Never 
mind,     the    old    well 
Captain  Gregory.         covers  the  secret  for 

The  Comte  de  Crebillon  had  cause  for 
anxiety.  Ever  since  he  had  married  Julie 
Fonblanque  for  her  large  iloi  he  had  been 
haunted  by  the  vision  of  his  real,  but  secretly 
married  wife,  who,  in  a  crazy  fit,  had  thrown 
herself  down  the  well  with  a  piercing  scream. 
It  was  suicide,  yet  the  Comte  knew  only  too 
well  that  he  was  lesponsible  for  the  death  of 
his  wife.  Ever  since  he  had  determined  on 
marrying  Julie  Fonblanque  he  had  caused 
his  real  wife  to  be  incarcerated  in  a  cottage, 
with  a  vile,  drink-sodden  woman  for  keeper, 
and  under  his  instructions  drugs  had  been 
administered  to  his  victim  until  the  poisons 
had  shattered  her  reason.  Then  one  evening, 
with  the  party  in  his  house,  his  wife  suddenly 
appeared,  having  in  some  way  evaded  her 
keeper,  and  in  the  garden  beside  the  old  well 
had    confronted   her   husband   and    spoken 

bitter,    haunting   words.       Then    the    final 
paroxysm  and  the  sound  of  the  splash.  Ugh — [ 

The  Comte  was  glad  to  enter  the  ballroom 
again,  even  though  he  experienced  another 
unpleasant  surprise  when  the  visitor  from 
America,  pretty  Miss  Kate  Shipley,  said  to 
him  saucily,     We  are  engaged." 

"  Congratulations,"  he  murmured  insin- 
cerely.    "  Is  it  the  lucky  British  captain  ?" 

"  Yes,"  retorted  the 
girl.  "And  I  shall 
have  the  man  of  my 
choice,  too.  That's 
even  luckier." 

The  Comte  winced. 
The  allusion  to  his 
matrimonial  venture 
had  touched  him  on 
the  raw,  for  it  was  an 
open  secret  that  his 
wife,  Julie,  had  loved 
her  cousin  Henri,  and 
only  the  pressure  of 
her  parents  had  com- 
pelled her  to  marry 
the  Comte. 

Kate  Shipley  had  come  all  the  way  from 
America  to  attend  the  wedding  of  her  French 
cousin,  and  the  breezy,  free  and  independent 
manner  in  which  she  expressed  her  opinions 
had  endeared  her  to  some  members  of  her 
cousin's  family,  and  had  amazed  and  shocked 
others,  including  the  Comte,  who  believed  in 
the  principle  that  girls  should  be  seen  and  not 
heard.  As  athletic  as  a  Eoman  gladiator  and 
as  bold  as  a  Sikh  warrior,  Kate's  physical  and 
mental  qualities  shone  out  radiantly  against 
the  background  of  effeminate-looking  males 
and  doll-like  women.  Awake  at  five,  dumb- 
bells and  Swedish  drill  at  five-thirty,  coffee 
at  six,  swimming  at  a  quarter  past,  and  Kate 
was  ready  to  face  the  world  from  any  vantage. 
She  was  even  suspected  of  boxing  on  the 
quiet  in  her  little  private  gymnasium,  and  a 

The  Villain— Comte 
de  Crebillon. 



few  claimed  that 
Kate  aspired  to 
the  white  woman 
championship  of 

"Ah,  the  British 
captain  will  tame 
our  pretty  Ameri- 
can visitor,"  con- 
tinued the  Comte 
somewhat  acridly. 
"  The  British  beat 
their  women,  eat 
large  beefsteaks, 
and  say  '  damn ' 
every  minute. 
I've  heard  all 
about  them." 

"  Does  Captain 
Gregory  look  as 
if  he  performed 
all  those  thing?" 
asked  Kate,  with 
dangerous  quiet- 

Ah,  ma  cherie,  it  is  my  little  joke,"  retorted 
the  Comte  diplomatically,  as  he  moved 
amongst  his  guests. 

The  Comte's  fears  returned  as  he  caught  a 
peculiar  look  from  Dr.  Girodet,  an  old  friend 
of  Julie's  family.  He  had  been  one  of  the 
men  attracted  to  the  garden  on  hearing  the 
scream,  and  in  the  meantime  had  turned  the 
subject  over  in  his  mind. 

Do  you  know,  Comte,"  he  said,  address- 
ing Comte  de  Crebillon,  "  I  have  a  fancy  that 
the  cry  we  heard  came  from  the  well." 

"  Keally,"  said  the  startled  Comte.  "  I 
fancied  myself  that  it  was  one  of  the  maids 
of  whom  the  butler  is  very  fond." 

''  The  cry  was  too  piercing,"  replied  the 
doctor,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  have  a  mind 
to  have  that  well  sounded." 

"Ah,"  said  the  Comt,  "  I  think  it  is 

Dr.  Girodet  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
While  the  gay  friends  of  the  chateau  were 
welcomed  in  on  the  following  night  to  a  gala 
ball,  several  men,  under  the  direction  of  the 
doctor,  had  brought  the  corpse  of  the  drowned 
woman  to  the  surface.  The  Comte,  who 
had  heard  of  the  matter,  had  gone  into  the 
garden  to  think  his  position  over.  He  feared 
no  danger,  for  even  the  discovery  of  his  wife's 
body  would  bring  no  crime  home  to  him,  for 
she  was  absolutely  unknown  to  anyone  in  the 
vicinity,  and  no  one  in  their  wildest  dreams 

"Good  morning."' 

had  suspected  the  Comte  of  a  previous 
marriage.  It  was  while  he  ruminated  that  a 
silent  little  procession,  headed  by  Dr.  Girodet, 
traversed  the  gravelled  walk  to  the  gate. 

"My  suspicions  were  correct,"  said  the 
doctor  to  the  pale-faced  Comte.  "  It  was 
some  poor  deniented  creature  who  sought 
death  in  your  well." 

The  Comte,  unable  to  trust  himself  to 
speak,  merely  bowed  his  head  as  the  little 
procession  passed.  AVith  a  supreme  effort 
he  pulled  himself  together  and  walked  back 
to  the  house,  and  the  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  pour  himself  out  a  large  glass  of  port,  which 
he  drained  to  the  bottom. 

"  Heavens ! "  he  muttered,  as  the  colour  stole 
back  to  his  face.  "  What  shocks  I  am  under- 
going. I  wonder  if  that  interfering  doctor 
has  any  suspicions  " 

The  wine  had  restored  his  courage  and  he 
sought  this  wife's  room.  Here  occurred  anothei- 
shock  to  his  nerves,  for  Julie,  with  her  back 
to  the  door,  was  kissing  a  photograph  with 
transports  of  passion.  The  Comte  hardly 
believed  it  was  his  own,  and  hecreptupbehind 
his  wife  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  her 

A  glance  satisfied  him.  The  portrait  was 
that  of  Julie's  cousin,  Henri.  With  a 
mocking  smile  the  Comte  reached  out  his 
hand  for  the  portrait. 

"  Madame,  when  a  woman  marries,"  inter- 



]iosed  the  Comte,   "she  gives  up  all  her  old 

"  I  hate  you,"  replied  Julie  desperately. 
'  My  coufcin  was  the  one  I  ought  to  have 

Perhaps  so,"  replied  the  Comte,  coolly 
taking  the  photo  from  her  hand  with  a  jerk. 

In  this  life  few  people  can  get  what  they 

'  I  have  already  warned  your  cousin  Henri 
that  he  must  meet  me  at  the  point  of  the 
sword  if  he  pays  any  further  attentions  to  my 
wife,"  continued  the  Comte.  '  I  never  fail 
to  kill  my  man  in  a  duel,  and  Dr.  Girodet 
knows  that,  for  he  has  asked  me  to  spare 
your  lover." 

Julie  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping,  and 
the  Comte,  feeling  very  virtuous  as  the 
injured  husband,  withdrew.  For  several 
minutes  Julie  allowed  her  tears  to  flow,  then 
she  commenced  that  dangerous  operation  for 
a  woman — to  think. 

Julie  turned  to  her  writing  material?,  and 
after  many  attempts  she  compiled  the 
following  letter  : 

"  My  darling  Kate, 

"I  can  bear  this  misery  no  longer.   I 

am  going  to  Henri,  who  loves  me  truly. 

Tell  mother  and  father — I  cannot.     I 

know    you   understand   and    will    not 


Your  heartbroken 

When  a  few  minutes  later  this  note  was 
handed  to  Kate,  that  girl  determined  ta 
rescue  her  French  cousin  from  her  impossible 
position.  Although  Kate  sympathised  with 
Julie  over  her  ill-starred  passion  for  Henri, 
she  still  believed  that  if  only  Julie  would 
conquer  her  feelings,  there  was  still  a 
possibility  of  a  calmer  matrimonial  career. 
Yet,  here  was  Julie  wrecking  her  whole  life 
by  one  false  step. 

Kate  rushed  out  and  encountered  at  the 
gate  her  aunt's  carriage,  waiting  to  take  the 
old  lady  out  for  her  daily  shopping  expedition. 
Time  was  important,  and  without  hesitation 
Kate  entered  the  carriage  and  told  the 
coachman  to  drive  her  to  Henri's  address. 
The  coachntan,  thinking  his  mistress  had 
changed  her  mind  and  that  Kate  was  using 
the  conveyance  herself,  drove  off  immediately. 
Madame  Fonblanque's  face,  as  she  stood 
outside  the  gate  a  few  minutes  later,  was  a 



study   of   perplexity,  bordering  on  despair. 

At  this  moment  the  Comte  de  Crebillon 
came  in  view.  He  eyed  his  perplexed 
mother-in-law  with  surprise,  and  in  reply  to 
his  unspoken  question  she  said  : 

Now  I  can't  go  shopping,  for  Julie  has 
taken  the  carriage." 

The  Comte  started.     "Did  she  want  to 

do  any  shopping  to-day  1 "  asked  the  Comte. 

I  suppose  so,  but  the  tiresome  girl  might 

have  told  me,"  said  mamma,  as  she  turned 

back  into  the  house. 

The  Comte 
remained  where 
he  was  for  sev- 
eral moments, 
then  he  turned 
back  and  went 
down  the  road 
at  a  quick  pace, 
and  his  steps  led 
him  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Henri's 

"I  think  I 
know  the  kind 
of  shopping  you 
are  indulging  in 
to-day,"  mur- 
mured the 
Comte  to  him- 
self. "But  I 
don't  want  you 
to  make  a  fool  of 
y  ourse  If  —  it 
would  spoil  the 
family  settle- 

He  arrived  at 
Henri's  lodgings, 
and  without  in- 
forming the 
servant  he  went 
straight    to 

Henri's  rooms.  There  was  the  sound 
of  a  woman's  voice,  and  as  the  Comte 
pushed  open  the  door  there  was  a  flutter  of 
skirts,  and  as  he  entered  and  faced 
Henri,  he  was  just  in  time  to  see  another 
door  closing  rapidly. 

To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honour 
of  this  visit  1 "  demanded  Henri,  coldly. 

Can   you    askV    sneered    the    Comte, 
looking  round  him. 

I  still  ask,"  retorted  the  young  man. 

'  Well,  my  virtuous  friend,"  continued 
the  Comte,  "I  have  reason  to  believe  that 

Dumb-bells  at  five-thirty.' 

my  wife  is  here,  in  your  apartments. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  inform 
her  that  I  wish  to  escort  her  home  again." 

Julie,  in  the  other  room,  behind  the  door,, 
quaked  at  the  steely  sound  of  her  husband's 
voice,  and  it  was  all  Kate  could  do  to  prevent 
her  cousin  from  collapsing.  It  was  certainly 
an  awkward  position  for  both  women,  and 
Kate,  seeing  the  condition  of  Julie  and 
wishing  to  save  her  further  suffering,  resolved 
on  a  bold  stroke. 

"  He  will  kill  Henri,"  moaned  Julie,  in 

Hush,"  mur- 
mured Kate, 
placing  her  hand 
over  Julie's 
mouth.  "  He 
will  hear  you,  if 
you  do  not  keep 

There  was  a 
diversion  in  the 
other  room  by 
the  arrival  of 
Captain  John 
Gregory,  wha 
had  an  appoint- 
ment  with 
Henri.  The 
Captain  and  the 
Comte  bowed  to 
each  other,  and 
the  latter  again 
turned  to  Henri 
with  the  remark: 
Perhaps  you 
will  be  kind 
enough  to  call 
my  wife,  sir." 

Seeing  that 
the  young  man 
made      no      at- 
tempt   to   meet 
his  wish,  the  Comte  turned  to  the  door  of 
the  ante-room,  with  the  remark  : 

"  Perhaps  my  wife  requires  some 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Kate  carried 
out  her  plan  of  self-sacrifice.  Pushing  Julie 
into  a  corner  behind  the  door,  Kate  marched 
out  and  faced  the  astonished  men. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  for  several 
moments.  After  the  first  surprise  the 
Comte  turned  to  the  Captain  with  a  sneering 
smile  : 

"  It  seems  I  have  made  a  mistake.     It  is 



not  my  wife,  and  I  apologise.'' 

The  Captain  turned  a  little 
pale.  It  was  a  cruel  moment 
for  him,  but  he  bore  the  shock 
silently.  The  Comte  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  but  he  could  not 
miss  a  parting  shot. 

Miss  Shipley,  pray  do  not  use 
my  wife's  carriage  in  your  future 

"  Stay." 

It  was  the  Captain's  voice.  The 
Comte  turned  interrogatively. 

You  have  insulted  this  lady 
by  using  the  word  intrigue.  Please 

There  was  a  disagreeable  smile 
on  the  Comte's  face  as  he  retorted  : 
"  I  thought  the  evidence  was 
strong  enough  even  for  an  obtuse 

The  Britisher  took  a  Britisher's  revenge. 
With  a  quick  swing  of  his  arm  he  struck  the 
Comte  on  the  cheek,  and  when  the  Comte 
recovered  there  was  an  exchange  of 
cards  and  a  mutual  invitation  to  get  up 
early  in  the  morning  and  settle  the  little 
trouble  with  lead. 

There  was  more  trouble  when  Julie  and 
Kate  arrived  home.  Mdme.  Fonblanque  had 
heard  of  the  proposed  duel  between  Captain 
Gregory  and  the  Comte  de  Crebillon.  The 
outraged  lady  sought  her  niece  and  pro- 
ceeded to  deliver  a  lecture. 

What's  this  disgraceful  thing  I  hear? 
The  Comte  and  Captain  Gregory  to  fight 
— over  you." 

That's  all  right,  auntie.  The  Captain  is 
as  good  a  shot  as  the  Comte." 

"  Well,  I  never.  Is  that  all  you  have  to 
say  in  excuse  of  your  conducf?"  ejaculated 
Mdme.  Fonblanque,  thunderstruck. 

But  Kate  slipped  away  unconcernedly, 
although  there  was  a  pathetic  little  droop  of 
the  lip  when  she  thought  of  the  reproachful 
look  in  the  eyes  of  the  Captain  when  she 
had  emerged  from  her  hiding  place  in 
Henri's  rooms. 

"  These  American  girls,"  sighed  Mdme. 
Fonblanque,  "  they  do  what  they  like." 

The  duel  took  place  the  next  morning, 
with  Dr.  Girodet  and  two  seconds  in 
attendance.  Dr.  Girodet  had  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye  when  the  men  were  placed  opposite 
each  other,  at  twenty-five  paces,  with  pistols 
ready  cocked. 

The  signal  was  given.     Two  shots  rang 

Tlie  Comte's  demented  wife. 

out,  and  the  Comte  de  Crebillon  fell  to  the 
ground.  The  seconds  saluted  ceremoniously, 
and  congratulated  each  other  on  a  well 
conducted  function.  Dr.  Girodet  went  to 
the  wounded  man. 

All,  a  fatal  spot,"  said  the  doctor,  feeling 
for  the  wound.  "You  have  only  a  few 
moments  to  live.  Have  you  anything  on 
your  mind  that  you  would  say  before  you 

The  Comte  did  not  feel  quite  so  bad  as 
that,  but  he  was  terrified,  and  who  will 
contradict  a  doctor?  Immediately  he  heard 
the  words  a  trembling  seized  him,  and  he 
gasped  out : 

'  Yes,  I  have  a  confession  to  make." 
"  Very  well,  lill  take  it  down,"  replied  the 

"  The  woman  who  met  her  death  in 
the  Fonblanque  well  was  my  legal  wife, 
Sylvia  de  Crebillon.  She  was  partially 
insane  through  the  use  of  drugs,  which 
I  confess  having  caused  to  be 

"[Signed]  Comte  de  Crebillon." 
"  Very  good,"  continued  Dr.  Girodet. 
"  We  have  you  at  last.  You  have  been 
tricked.  The  injury  you  received  is  slight, 
and  there  is  not  the  least  fear  of  your  dying 
— not  just  yet."  The  doctor  turned  to 
several  uniformed  men  who  had  just  arrived 
on  the  field.  "  I  think  the  services  of  these 
men  are  needed  more  than  mine." 

The  resuscitated  Comte  rose  to  his  feet 
with  a  bound,  but  it  was  no  use.  A  second 
later  he  was  handcuffed  and  led  away. 



The  amazed  Captain  Gregory  hardly  knew 
what  to  make  of  these  unexpected  develop- 
ments until  Dr.  Girodet  made  him  wiser. 
The  clever  doctor  also  hinted  to  the  Captain 
that  he  must  not  mind  the  appearances  of 
the  incidents  in  Henri's  room,  and  the 
oi^cer  nothing  loth  went  back  to  the  house 
to  seek  out  Kate. 

He  found  a  note  on  the  table  for  him 
which  the  Captain  opened  eagerly. 

"  I  can't   explain  things,   so  if    you 
won't  believe  in  me  don't  follow  me. 

"  P.S.     If  you  do  believe  in  me,  you 
fighting     Britisher,     I     am      in      the 

"  Kate." 
The    Captain    immediately   went   to  the 
conservatory   and    sought   out   the    wilful, 
beautiful  girl  who  had  made  havoc  with  his 

heart.  He  spied  her  hiding  behind  a  large 
fern,  and  he  hurried  forward  Avith  a  touch 
of  his  habitual  shyness.  The  girl's  smiling 
face  peering  from  between  the  ferns  re- 
assured him,  and  becoming  suddenly  bold 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

So  you  do  believe  in  me  ? "  said  Kate 
softly,  a  few  minutes  later. 

Yes,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  I  am  too 
good  an  Englishman  to  risk  my  life  for  a 
woman  that  isn't  worth  fighting  for." 

And  that  is  how  our  girl  became  Mrs. 

Meanwhile  the  guilt  of  the  Comte  de 
Crebillon  being  secured  by  his  own 
confession,  his  marriage  to  Julie  Fonblanque 
became,  in  legal  terras,  "null  and  void," 
and  it  did  not  help  the  Comte  to  bear  his 
imprisonment  any  easier  to  hear  that  Julie 
and  her  cousin  Henri  had  at  last  been  united. 

SEVERAL  interesting  additions  have  recently 
been  made  to  the  list  of  celebrities  appear- 
ing in  the  Mutual  Girl  Serial,  which  the 
Dominion  Exclusives  Company  are  handling  in 
this  country.  British  audiences  should  be  par- 
ticularly interested  in  the  scenes  in  which  Sir 
Arthur  Conan  Doyle,  the  author  of  "  Sherlock 
Holmes,"  and  Lady  Doyle  are  introduced.  Sir 
Arthur  is  asked  to  assist  in  the  discovery  of 
"  Our  Mutual  Girl,"  who  has  been  abducted,  and 
confers  with  Mr.  W.  J.  Burns,  the  famous 
American  detective,  as  to  the  best  means  of  find- 
ing her.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  August  Belmont,  prom- 
inent leadei'S  in  New  York  society,  Ysaye,  the 
famous  violinist,  and  Jimmy  Britt,  one-time  light- 
weight champion  of  the  world,  are  other  interest- 
ing people  who  have  been  persuaded  to  pose  for 
the  camera  by  Mr.  Jack  Noble,  the  energetic 
producer  of  "  Our  Mutual  Girl." 

CLAIR  WHITNEY,  of  the  Blache  Company, 
who  was  a  clever  dancer  before  entering 
the  realms  of  motion  pictures,  was  presented 
with  a  large  and  magnificent  silver  cup  recently 
for  her  delightful  interpretation  of  the  tantalising 
tango  at  the  Grand  Central  Palace,  U.S.A.  Her 
partner  was  Arthur  Backrack,  and  their  demons- 
tration was  convincing  proof  that  they  are  as 
much  at  home  on  the  waxed  floor  as  they  are 
before  the  camera. 

A  T  it  again  !  Once  again  Dick  Neill's  athletic 
-^*-  ability  brings  him  into  the  limelight. 
Ever  since  he  broke  his  shoulder  in  "  The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  the  Edison 
directors  have  been  very  careful  not  to  give  him 
a    chance    to    risk    his    neck    again.     In    "  The 

Counterfeiters,"  an  Edison  single-reel  drama, 
however,  he  makes  his  escape  from  the  third 
floor  of  the  house  in  which  he  is  imprisoned,  by 
descending  a  rope  hand  over  hand  for  200  feet. 
Then,  having  summoned  the  police,  he  returns 
to  his  prison  V)y  climbing  the  same  rope.  Mean- 
while Sally  Crute  wrestles  manfully  with  the 
loose  end  of  the  rope,  and  succeeds  in  holding  it 
out  from  the  house  and  preventing  Neill  from 
bumping  against  the  wall.  After  completing 
the  picture  he  felt  so  sore  that  he  at  once  took  up 
training  again,  and  is  now  in  such  great  physical 
shape  that  he  guarantees  to  climb  the  same  rope 
with  one  hand  held  behind  his  back! 

RUTH  ROLAND,  the  famous  Kalem  comedi- 
enne, who  appears  in  "jWanted,  an  Heir," 
a  neM'  comedy,  has  a  coloured  servant 
whose  husband  died  recently.  According  to 
Miss  Roland,  the  man  had  formerly  been  a 
preacher  in  the  African  Methodist  Church. 

"According  to  Marilla,"  said  Miss  Roland,  "he 
failed  to  satisfy  his  flock  during  the  first  year  of 
his  ministry,  whereupon  a  committee  requested 
his  resignation." 

"Look  here!''  demanded  the  preacher. 
"  Whut's  de  trouble  wid  mah  preachin'  ? 
Doesn't  I  argufy?" 

"You  sho  does,  brother,"  replied  the  spokes- 

"  Doesn't  I 'sputify  concerning  the  Scriptures?" 

"  You  suttingly  does,"  admitted  the  other. 

"  Den  whut's  wrong  ?  " 

"Well,  brudder,"  replied  the  head  of  the 
committee,  "  hit's  dis  way  :  You  argufies  an' 
you  'sputifies,  but  you  doesn't  show  wherein  !" 


An  Englishman's 

Adapted  from  the  B.  &  C.  Film,  which  is  founded  on  the  great 

Wyndham's  Theatre  Play  by  a  far-seeing  and  talented  author, 

who  chooses  to  he  known  as  ''A  Patriots 

"I  appeal  to  my  fellow-countrymen  to  uphold  the 
honour  of   their   land.    Every   man   we  can   raise   is 

needed  in  this  great  struggle  of  giants I  am 

not  exaggerating  when  I  say  that  England  stands  at 
the  crisis  of  her  fate.  She  depends  on  her  young 
men  now,  and  I  know  they  will  not  fail  her  in  her 
need."  Field-Marshal  Earl  Roberts. 

ERMANS!"  said  Brown  scorn- 
fully. "  We  shall  never  see 
any  of  them  here,  you  may 
bet  your  boots  on  that !  " 

Brown  was  just  an  ordinary 
Englishman,  in  comfortable 
circumstances.  He  bad  lived  in  snug  security 
so  long  that  he  could  not  believe  himself, 
his  family,  and  his  property  in  any  danger 
from  a  foreign  foe.  Indeed,  he  had  almost 
come  to  believe  in  the  impossibility  of  war. 
England  was  at  peace,  and  did  not  want  to 
quarrel  with  any  other  nation.  Why  should 
any  other  nation,  then,  want  to  quarrel  with 
her  ?     The  idea  was  preposterous. 

Sometimes  he  may  have  been  vaguely  dis- 
quieted on  reading  in  the  papers  about  the 
rapid  increase  in  Germany's  naval  power,  and 
the  marvellous  perfection  of  her  immense 
army.  But  these  things,  after  all,  he  told 
himself,  were  entirely  Germany's  business  : 
they  could  not  concern  him.  England  had  a 
fleet,  too  ;  it  cost  a  lot  to  maintain — too 
much,  he  thought — and  it  was  quite  power- 
ful enough  to  make  Germany  think  twice  or 
three  times  before  attacking  this  country, 
even  if  she  ever  had  the  idea  of  doing  so, 
which  Brown  did  not  for  a  moment  believe. 
As  for  the  talk  of  a  citizen  army,  whose 
task  it  would  be  to  defend  the  shores  of 
England  and  the  homes  of  Englishmen,  that 
was  nothing  more  than  moonshine.  If  there 
was  no  possibility  of  England  being  attacked, 
where  was  the  need  of  a  citizen  army  ? 
Brown'.i  logic  was  quite  conclusive  to  him- 
self, as  to  thousands  of  other  Englishmen. 
The  Browns  of  the  country  regarded  the 
Territorials    with    an   amused    indulgence. 

Amateur  soldiering  was  no  doubt  a  pleasant 
enough  game  for  those  who  liked  it.  There- 
fore there  was  no  reason  why  men  should, 
not  learn  to  shoot,  form  fours,  right  wheel, 
and  all  that  sort  of  rot  if  they  wanted  to, 
but  there  was  no  call  upon  the  general  body 
of  citizens,  quiet,  law-abiding  men,  to 
sacrifice  time  and  comfort  for  these  things. 
No  call  at  all.  To  keep  the  lawn  in  good 
order  and  to  grow  roses  was  much  more 
useful  work — so  the  Browns  believed. 

Brown  had  many  an  argament  with  young 
Paul  Robinson  about  this.  Robinson  did 
believe  in  a  citizen  army  ;  he  was  convinced 
of  the  reality  of  the  German  menace.  It 
was  no  mere  taste  for  soldiering  that  had 
induced  Robinson  to  join  the  Territorials, 
but  a  strong  sense  of  duty,  and  he  and 
thousands  of  others  all  over  the  country 
were  drilling,  shooting,  and  making  them- 
selves into  efficient  soldiers  against  the  day 
when  the  trumpet  call  would  ring  out — To 
Arms ! 

But  they  were  only  the  thousands ;  the 
millions  were  Brown  and  his  like,  who  went 
blindly  on  with  their  business,  their  gardens, 
and  their  games,  incredulous  of  danger,  and 
completely  misreading  the  signs  of  the  times. 

Brown  and  Robinson  had  been  having  one 
of  their  arguments  on  this  Bank  Holiday 
morning.  The  house  was  full  of  young 
people.  Brown's  daughters  and  their  male 
admirers  were  full  of  innocent  fun  and  good 
spirits.  They  were  bent  on  spending  an 
enjoyable  day  ;  and  since  a  thick  fog  made 
golf  and  tennis  impossible,  they  were  going 
to  make  themselves  as  happy  as  possible 
indoors  playing  Diabolo,  or  any  other  game 



'  Men  had  climbed  the  telegraph  posts  and  cut  the  wires 

which  might  suit  their  inclinations  for  the 

The  fog  which  had  overhung  the  North 
Sea  and  the  East  Coast  of  England  for  a 
fortnight  had  rather  upset  Paul  Kobinson's 
arrangements  too.  He  had  intended  to 
spend  the  day  at  target  practice,  but  that 
was  impossible  under  the  circumstances. 
His  disappointment  was  keen,  but  after  the 
argument  with  Brown,  which  had  closed 
with  the  latter's 
contemptuous  dis- 
missal of  the 
German  danger,  he 
went  away  to  the 
headquarters  of  his 
battalion,  hoping 
that  the  fog  might 
yet  clear  away  so 
that  he  could  get 
his  target  practice 
after  all.  As  he 
walked  down  the 
garden  path  one  of 
the  young  men  he 
was  leaving  cried 
out  to  him : 

"Well,  Paul,  you 
are  a  mug  !  Fancy 
spending  a  Bank 
Holiday  practisinj^ 
rotten  shooting  ! " 

heed,  and  the 
Browns  and  their 
guests,  becoming 
absorbed  in  the 
deep  mysteries  of 
Diabolo,  soon  forgot 
all  about  him  and 
about  the  Germans 
as  well. 

The  fun  was 
going  fast  and 
furious  when  there 
came  a  dramatic 
interruption.  A 
thundering  knock 
at  the  door  brought 
the  game  to  an 
abrupt  conclusion, 
and  before  the 
merry  party  had 
recovered  from 
their  surprise  a 
number  of  men  in 
uniform  walked 
into  the  room.  The  leader,  a  bearded  giant, 
addressed  Brown  in  the  voice  of  a  man 
accustomed  to  command.  He  asked  him 
questions  about  the  surrounding  country, 
how  far  it  was  to  the  nearest  town,  where 
the  railway  station  was  situated,  and  whether 
there  were  telegraph  and  telephone  offices 
in  the  village. 

Overawed  by  the  officer's  manner.  Brown 
gave    the    required    information    while    his 

Paul    paid    no 

"  Brown's  little  daughter  had  a  revolver  presented  at  her  head. 



daughters  and  their 
admirers  looked  on 
wondering.  When 
the  questioner 
turned  away  and 
began  to  speak  to 
his  companions, 
Brown  thought  it 
time  to  assert  his 
dignity  and  his 
rights  as  a  free-born 
Englishman.  Who 
the  intruders  were 
he  did  not  know. 
He  had  the  average 
Englishman's  ignor- 
ance of  military  uni- 
forms, and  supposed 
that  these  were 
Territorial  officers, 
or  perhaps  Regulars 
engaged  in  some 
manoeuvres   in  the 

neighbourhood.  They  spoke  good  English. 
Anyhow,  that  they  should  walk  into  his 
house  as  though  it  belonged  to  them  filled 
him  with  resentment. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  I  don't  know  who 
you  are,  but  you  take  my  advice,  my  man, 
and  stick  to  the  road.  You  Tommies  are 
all  very  well  in  your  place,  but  remember 
that  an  Englishman's  house  is  his  castle  ! " 

The  men  laughed,  the  leader  most  heartily 
of  all.     With  a  curt  word  or  two  of  thanks 


"  An  oiHcer  with  a  drawn  sword  seemed  to  be  indicating  the 
direction  of  advance." 


^-  ^J-'^^-^ 

J  2 1  ■  <-  '5*  ■  ■•  .^ 

Hi^Sfe;--    ^i;^ 

"  You  have  killed  one  of  my  men. 

they  filed  out  of  the  house  and  went  away. 
Robinson,  returning  to  Brown's  house 
from  another  direction,  saw  them  leave,  and 
seemed  very  much  puzzled  and  worried  by 
Brown's  account  of  their  Adsit  and  the 
questions  they  had  asked. 

I  believe  they  are  foreigners,"  he  said 
presently,  but  Brown  ridiculed  the  idea, 
declaring  that  Robinson  had  Germans  on 
the  brain. 

But  Robinson  was  uneasy,  and  determined 
to  get  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  mystery. 
An  hour  or  two 
later,  to  Brown's 
anger  and  astonish- 
ment, the  men  came 
back  again.  They 
entered  the  house 
without  ceremony, 
but  this  time  Brown 
got  in  the  first 
word.  The  picture 
of  outraged  dignity, 
he  faced  the 
bearded  officer. 

'  I  insist  upon 
having  your  name," 
he  said,  "  and  the 
name  of  your 
absurd  corps.  Now, 
sir  ! " 

From  his  superior 
You  must  pay  the  penalty."  height    the     officer 



looked  down  upon 
his  questioner,  and 
replied  calmly : 

I  am  Prince 
Yoland,  in  com- 
mand of  the  Black 
Dragoons  of  his 
Imperial  Majesty 
the  Kaiser ! " 

The  German 
smiled  to  see  the 
effect  his  amazing 
words  produced. 
Brown  gasped,  and 
exclamations  of 
astonishment  and 
dismay  broke  from 
the  other  members 
of  the  party. 
Another  officer 
came  up  quietly  and 
stood  by  the  side  of 
his  leader.  He  held 
a  revolver  in  his  hand. 

Hands  up ! "  barked  Prince  Yoland 
suddenly,  and  at  the  word  Brown's  hands 
shot  up  above  his  head.  If  he  had  been 
able  to  look  round  he  would  have  seen  that 
his  family  and  his  friends  had  also  obeyed 
the  command.  They  were  giveu  sternly  to 
understand  that  they  weie  prisoners. 

Prince  Yoland  calmly  took  pos^session  of 
the  place,  making  it  his  headquarters. 
Officers  came  and  went  with  reports  and 
instructions.  The  countryside,  they  said, 
was  absolutely  quiet.  The  spies  were  doing 
their  work  thoroughly,  the  people  of  the 
district  took  no  notice  of  them,  and  the 
authorities  were  quite  unsuspicious.  There 
was  nothing  to  obstruct  the  onward  mai'ch 
of  the  troops.  Men  had  climbed  the  tele 
graph'  poles  and  cut  the  wires. 

Poor  Brown  was  bewildered.  Why  had 
not  the  news  of  the  German  landing  been 
flashed  along  the  wires  as  soon  as  they 
reached  the  coast  *?  Suddenly  he  remem- 
bered with  a  shock  that  the  telegraph  and 
telephone  system  had  not  been  working  for 
days,  owing  to  a  strike.  The  rest  of  the 
country  must  be  in  utter  ignorance  of  what 
was  going  on. 

Kobinson  had  been  right  after  all.  The 
invasion  he  had  feared  was  now  an  actual 
fact.  But  if  Brown  had  begun  to  realise 
this,  some  of  those  in  his  family  circle  were 
still  incredulous  in  the  presence  of  the  very 
Germans     themselves !      A    young    fellow 

"  Setting  fire  to  the  place  out  of  sheer,  M'antoii  lust  of  destruction." 

named  Sn  ith,  engaged  to  Brown's  daughter, 
even  tried  to  extract  some  fun  from  the 
situation.  The  Germans  ignored  his  feeble 
witticisms,  but  when  he  said  something 
about  this  making  prisoners  of  harmless 
citizens  being  all  rot,"  Prince  Yoland 
remarked  siguificantly  : 

"  Where  I  come  from  none  of  the  citizens 
are  harmless.     They  are  all  soldiers." 

Smith  pondered,  and  so  did  Brown.  They 
had  both  sneered  at  the  idea  of  a  citizen 
army.     It  would  have  been  useful  now  ! 

Brown  gained  some  experience  during  the 
next  few  hours  of  the  way  in  which  an 
invading  army  behaves  to  the  people  of  thn 
invaded  territory.  He  and  his  family  and 
guests  were  made  to  understand  that  they 
were  the  servants  of  the  Germans,  and  that 
they  must  do  immediately  what  they  were 
ordered  to  do.  If  they  showed  any  unwilling-^ 
ness  they  were  brought  to  a  more  submissive 
frame  of  mind  by  the  most  terrible  threats. 
The  Germans  did  not  hesitate  to  be  brutal 
even  to  children,  and  Brown's  little 
daughter  was  treated  roughly  and  had  a 
revolver  presented  at  her  head  because  she 
was  not  ready  enough  with  her  answers. 
When  the  elder  daughter,  though  trembling 
with  terror  herself,  ventured  to  remonstrate 
with  Prince  Yoland  about  the  brutality  of 
his  men,  he  only  said  : 

"  Madam,  they  are  hungry  and  must  have 
food.     This  is  war — and  war  is  not  gentle." 

Brown  was  even  yet  unable  to  realise  the 



full  gravity  of  the  situation.  It  seemed  so 
unreal,  so  absolutely  impossible.  It  was 
lilce  a  nightmare,  and  presently  he  would 
wake  up  !  But  meanwhile  the  nightmare 
continued.  When  he  saw  the  Germans 
damaging  his  house,  his  furniture,  and  his 
beloved  garden  he  became  exasperated,  and 
did  what  the  ordinary  man  does  in  times  of 
]  cace  when  he  sees  his  belongings  assailed. 
I'll  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense," 
he  cried.       '  I'll  go  and  fetch  a  policeman  !  " 

Poor  little  man  !  The  utter  futility  of 
what  he  was  about  to  do  never  struck  him. 
lie  would  have  gone  to  the  police  if  a 
drunken  man  had  entered  his  garden  and 
started  to  destroy  his  rose  trees,  and  so  he 
went  to  instruct  the  village  constable  to 
arrest  a  German  army  I 

But  the  constable  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  Everywhere  he  saw  German  soldiers. 
Thoy  seemed  to  be  preparing  to  march. 

A  score  or  so  of  officers  were  standing  in 
a  group.  One  of  them  was  looking  through 
field-glasses,  and  another,  with  a  drawn 
sword,  seemed  to  be  indicating  the  direction 
of  the  advance.  There  was  a  general  air 
of  bustle  and  excitement. 

When  Brown  got  back  to  his  own  house, 
still  in  a  pitiful  state  of  bewilderment,  he 
found  to  his  relief  that  the  Germans  had 

They've  gone,"  Smith  cried,  as  Brown 
appeared.  "  It's  all  right  now.  It's  none 
of  our  business.  Let's  have  some  fun."  He 
sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  play  a 
rollicking  music  hall  air. 

Paul  Robinson,  who  had  by  this  time 
formed  a  clear  idea  of  what  had  happened, 
rushed  into  the  room  in  time  to  hear  Smith's 

"Are  you  all  mad  1 "  he  shouted,  beside 
himself  with  anger.  "  The  country  is 
coming  down  like  a  house  of  cards,  and  you, 
and  thousands  like  you,  are  saying  it's  none 
of  your  business.  All  you  think  about  is 
having  some  fun.     Oh,  my  God  !  " 

He  dashed  out  of  the  house,  sprang 
on  his  bicycle,  and  rode  like  the  wind  to 
the  headquarters  of  his  regiment. 

There  came  from  somewhere  outside  the 
crackling  of  rifle  fire,  and  while  the  Brown 
household  were  staring  at  one  another  in 
dismay,  the  door  was  burst  open  and  in 
rushed  a  number  of  soldiers — scores  of  them, 
filling  the  house.  They  were  British  this 
time,  and  at  a  sharp  command  from  their 
officers  the  men  took  up  their  positions  at 

the  windows  and  doors,  and  began  firing  as 
rapidly  as  they  could.  From  outside  came 
answering  volleys.  Here  and  there  a  man 

At  this  poor  Brown  lost  his  head  entirely. 
What  on  earth  were  these  men  doing  to  his 
house  1  Wasn't  an  Englishman's  house  his 
castle  ?  He  rushed  up  to  an  officer  and 
positively  screamed  at  him  : 

"Is  this  a  madhouse  let  loose?  Stop! 
What  right  have  you  in  my  house  "?  If  you 
must  play  this  fool's  game,  go  outside  and 
do  it  in  the  public  road  !  " 

The  officer  looked  at  him  with  contempt. 

You  are  a  civilian,"  he  said.  '  You  can't 
lift  a  finger  in  defence  of  your  house  or 
your  country.  It's  a  pity  you  did  not  earn 
the  right,  instead  of  cursing  those  real 
patriots  who  are  doing  their  best." 

Brown  slunk  away  abashed.  He  was 
beginning  to  learn  his  lesson,  and  it  was  very 

There  was  a  tremendous  roar,  followed 
by  a  crash.  It  seemed  to  Brown  that  the 
house  rocked  to  its  foundations  and  then 
split  into  fragments.  It  was  not  as  bad  as 
that,  but  the  damage  done  was  considerable. 
The  Germans  had  trained  a  gun  on  the 
house,  and  their  shells  soon  made  the  place 
untenable  for  the  British,  who  evacuated 
it,  leaving  Brown  once  more  master  of  his 
own  house,  and  that  house  a  ruin. 

By  this  time  he  was  in  a  pitiable  condition, 
and  raged  up  and  down  like  a  madman, 
calling  down  bitter  curses  upon  the  heads 
of  the  men  who  had  done  this  thing. 

The  roar  of  the  guns  had  ceased,  and 
presently  somebody  came  to  tell  Brown  that 
the  Germans  were  coming  back  again.  He 
sprang  to  the  window  and  saw  a  number  of 
them  entering  the  garden.  In  a  frenzy  he 
snatched  up  a  rifle  which  had  been  left  behind 
when  the  British  retired,  brought  it  to  his 
shoulder,  and  fired.  He  laughed  savagely 
when  aGerman  soldierfell.  His  joy  was  short- 
lived, however.  The  men  burst  into  the 
house  and  seized  him  before  he  could  turn 
away  from  the  window.  They  dragged  him 
brutally  before  the  captain.  Brown's 
pleading  and  the  appeals  of  his  daughters 
and  guests  were  brushed  rudely  aside. 

"  You  have  killed  one  of  my  men,"  said 
the  captain,  savagely.  'You  are  not  a 
soldier.  You  have  no  right  to  defend  your 
house.     You  must  pay  the  penalty  !  " 

Quiet  enough  now,  his  face  wearing  an 
expression    of   pained    bewilderment,    poor 



Brown  was  seized  by  a  couple  of  soldiers, 
dragged  into  the  garden,  and  placed  against 
the  house  wall.  There  was  a  sharp  word  of 
command,  a  volley  rang  out,  and  Brown 
fell,  shot  through  the  heart — the  man  who 
would  not  believe. 

Fortunately  there  were  others  who  had 
believed.  The  news  of  the  German  invasion 
reached  in  time  the  general  commanding  the 
district.  Mustering  all  his  forces,  he  made 
a  rapid    march,    defeated  and    routed    the 

Germans,  and  made  prisoners  of  all  who 
were  not  killed  and  wounded.  Those  who 
had  remained  at  Brown's  house  were  taken 
by  surprise.  They  were  amusing  themselves 
by  setting  fire  to  the  place  out  of  sheer 
wanton  lust  of  destruction,  when  the  British 
surrounded  the  house  and  took  every  man 

The  great  invasion  had  failed,  but  it  had 
taught  Englishmen  a  lesson.  Poor  Brown, 
shot  in  his  own  garden  like  a  dog  for  daring 
to  defend  his  home,  had  not  died  in  vain. 

COSTELLO  was  born  in  Pittsburg,  Pa., 
on  Washington's  Birthday,  Febrviary  22, 
1877.  His  father  was  Thomas  Costello,  born  and 
raised  in  Ireland.  His  ancestors,  three  generations 
before,  came  from  Spain.  His  mother  was  Helen 
Fitzgerald,  also  boi-n  and  raised  in  Ireland.  Her 
ancestors  are  pure  Irish,  as  far  back  as  can  be 

Maurice  Costello's  parents  were  married  in 
America.  His  father  died  when  Maurice  was 
two  years  old.  The  mother  still  lives.  He  has 
two  sisters  but  no  brothers.  He  was  educated  in 
the  public  schools  at  Pittsburg.  Going  to  work 
when  about  11  years  old,  as  a  printer's  devil,  he 
never  had  a  chance  of  attending  cither  high 
school  or  college,  being  compelled  to  support  the 

When  he  was  about  16  years  old  he  commenced 
to  appear  in  amateur  entertainments.  His  first 
professional  engagement  was  with  the  Davis 
Stock  Company  in  Pittsburg  early  in  1897.  He 
continued  with  that  organisation  for  three  years, 
playing  everything  from  the  smallest  parts  to 
the  most  important  characters.  His  first  pro- 
fessional work  with  a  company  recognised  as  the 
most  successful  stock  company  in  America  gave 
him  training  such  as  few  actors  ever  receive. 

Possessing  an  enviable  reputation  as  a  stock 
actor,  Mr.  Costello  was  engaged  with  the  Boyle 
Stock  Company  in  Nashville,  Tenn. ;  the  Spooner, 
the  Columbia  and  the  Gotham  Stock  Companies, 
in  Brooklyn,  N.Y. ;  the  Yorkville  Stock  Com- 
pany in  New  York  City,  and  Summer  Stock 
Companies  in  Wildwood,  N.J. ;  and  Fall  River, 

Six  years  ago  he  played  a  few  extra  parts  with 
the  Vitagraph  Company  of  America.  The  crude 
cameras  and  projecting  machines  of  that  period 
and  the  style  of  motion  picture  acting  did  not 
seem  to  agree,  as  there  was  a  terrific  jerkiness  in 
all   pictures.     Mr.    Costello  evolved    the  "slow 

motion"  style  of  acting  which  is  now  used  by 
every  pictoiial  star  of  importance  in  the  entire 
world.  This  new  style  of  acting  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  Vitagraph  Company,  and  he  was 
engaged  as  their  first  leading  man.  His  excep- 
tionally varied  theatrical  experience  soon  gained 
for  him  an  enviable  reputation  in  pictures.  His 
only  motion  picture  engagement  has  been  with 
the  Vitagraph  Company  of  America;  he  is  still 
in  their  employ  and  heading  their  list  of  stars. 
In   addition   to   acting   he  directs  all   his    own 


*  *  * 

In  December,  1913,  he  headed  a  company  of 
Vitagraphers  sent  round  the  world.  This  trip 
required  nearly  a  year  and  pictures  were  taken  in 
every  country  visited.  The  trip  pi-oved  the  most 
successful  of  the  several  similar  trips  made  by 
other  concerns,  for  Costello's  ability  as  an  inven- 
tive director  surmounted  many  of  the  obstacles 
which  have  been  the  undoing  of  the  other  similar 
companies.  His  rei^ertoire  numbers  about  300 
dramatic  plays  and  more  than  1,000  photo  plays. 
Prior  to  entering  the  dramatic  profession,  Mr. 
Costello  was  well-known  as  an  all-round  amateur 
athlete.  He  is  an  enthusiastic  automobilist  and 
boxer,  a  Mason,  and  a  member  of  the  Greenroom 
and  Screen  Clubs. 

Mr.  Costello  was  married  to  Mae  Tresham,  a 
non-professional,  and  has  two  daughters,  Dolox-es 
and  Helen  Costello. 

Neiu  York  Morniiig  Telegraph, 
12th  April,  1914. 

NOTHING  much  will  be  heard  of  the  Cinema 
in  Germany  for  a  long  time  to  come,  as 
news    from    Holland    suggests    that   the 
business  is  almost  dead. 

Military  films  are  very  popular  throughout 
Holland  just  now,  and  the  troops  are  specially 
encouraged  to  visit  the  cinemas  where  mobilisa- 
tions and  war  ofieratioas  are  being  shown. 

The  Widow's  Mite. 

Adapted  from  the  THANHOUSEB  Film  hy  Edoiiard. 

Pained  that  he  is  unable  to  make  his  teacher  a 
birthday  present  like  the  rest  of  the  scholars,  the 
little  son  of  a  washerwoman  places  a  valuable  pin, 
found  by  his  mother  in  a  blouse  sent  to  be  washed, 
in  the  teacher's  satchel.  The  pin  is  lost,  and  suspicion 
falls  on  the  teacher,  who  breaks  off  her  engagement 
in  consequence.  The  'plucky  little  fellow,  however, 
confesses  tearfully  to  what  he  has  done. 

T  is  a  strange  little  village, 
Farn bridge:  a  line  of  straggling 
cottages,  with  a  number  of 
fairly  wealthy  houses  on  the 
outskirts,  together  with 
middle-class  homes.  It  has 
no  industry  to  keep  it  alive.  All  sorts  of 
people  settle  there  because  it  is  pretty  in  the 
neighbourhood.  In  the  middle  of  the  village, 
flanked  by  an  open  space,  stands  the  school- 
house,  where  all  the  children,  who  cannot 
go  to  the  neighbouring  town,  make  their 
initial  studies.  Later  the  better  class 
people  send  their  boys  and  girls  to  the 
higher  schools  in  Burnford. 

Mrs.  Alger,  whose  husband  was  a 
prosperous  manufacturer  in  Burnford,  sent 
her  twin  daughters  to  be  taught  by  Miss 
Hall  at  the  village  school.  Billy  Badgley, 
whose  mother  was  the  washerwoman,  and 
the  little  son  of  the  curate,  went  also, 
together  with  the  grocer's  girl.  There  was 
little  class  distinction.  All  the  children 
loved  their  teacher  whole-heartedly.  She  was 
a  woman  to  be  loved  by  others  also.  A  slim 
figure,  with  masses  of  brown-golden  hair 
Avreathed  round  a  sunny,  intelligent  face, 
Mary  Hall  attracted  attention  from  the  first, 
and  then  wound  herself  round  the  heart  of 
any  man  who  found  himself  in  her  company. 
So  it  was  with  Nolan  Gaue,  the  young 
uncle  of  the  Alger  twins. 

Their  meeting  came  about  in  the  most 
unconventional  manner.  Nolan  had  come 
down  from  the  city,  where  he  led  the  usual 
pretty  gay  life  of  the  young  man  with 
enough  to  spend.  He  intended  a  few  days 
holiday,  and  being  a  great  favourite  with 
the  girls  he  was  perforce  made  to  accompany 
them  to  school  the  very  first  day  of  his  stay. 
No  use  to  protest  that  schools  made  him 
shudder — the  twins  would  have  nothing. 

Do  come.  Uncle.  We  shall  see  so  little  of 
you,  being  at  school  all  day,"  they  cried  as 
they  curled  round  him. 

And  if  I  come,  it  is  only  ten  minutes' 
walk,  and  you  will  be  quickly  swallowed  up 
by  the  other  scholars.  What  interest  is 
that  for  me?" 

Oh,  well,"  said  one,  '  I  think  you'll  find 
it  very  interesting.  We  have  an  awfully 
pretty  teacher." 

Cheeky  puss  !  Do  you  think  to  draw  me 
with  the  promise  of  seeing  a  pretty  teacher'?" 

"  Do  come.  Uncle,"  chimed  in  the  second 
twin  ;  "  we'll  introduce  you,  and  I'll  bet  you 
a  box  of  chocolates  you  fall  in  love  !  " 

Oh,  so  it's  chocolates  you're  after,  not 
my  company.  Anyway  I'll  come  just  to 
enjoy  your  discomfiture  when  you  see  your 
chance  vanish." 

"  Hurrah,  come  along  then ;  we  must  go 

Laughing  and  chafing,  they  went  to  the 
school,  Nolan  somewhat  interested  to  know 
what  the  twins'  idea  of  feminine  beauty  was. 
At  the  school  door  there  was  no  sign  of 
their  teacher. 

"  She's  inside.  You  must  come  in  and  be 
introduced,"  said  the  girls. 

In  they  went  right  up  to  the  front  of  the 
class,  the  girls  holding  Nolan's  hands  as  if  to 
prevent  his  escape. 

"Teacher,  please  we've  brought  our 
Uncle  Nolan  to  introduce  to  you,"  cried  the 

Uncle  Nolan  flushed  slightly  and  lost  his 
self-control  somewhat  as  Mary  Hall  turned 
on  him  a  pair  of  twinkling  blue  eyes,  and 
with  the  slightest  inclination  of  her  little 
head  murmured  a  "  Good-morning." 

"Er,  good  morning,"  responded  Nolan, 
and  the  twins  smiled  behind  their  hands. 

"  Would  you  care  to  take  a  chair  for  a  ; 



moment'?  I  must  open  the  lesson," said  Mary, 
waving  him  to  an  uncomfortable  looking  seat 
at  the  side  of  her  desk. 

"  Yes,  thank  you — that  is,  I  should  like  to 
watch  the  lesson,  if  I  may,"  answered  the 
visitor,  haltingly,  as  he  took  the  proffered 
seat.  He  was  hoping  she  would  continue 
to  talk  to  him.  The  twins  were  right — 
she  was  indeed  pretty.  Of  course,  it  was 
all  rot  love  at  first  sight  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  But  he  wished  he  could  remain 
self-composed — his  fingers  were  a  nuisance 
and  his  hat  would  be  all  out  of  shape  by  the 
time  he  got  over  his  nervousness.  Anyway, 
the  twins  should  have  the  chocolates.  It 
was  worth  it.  He  threw  a  glance  towards 
them.  The  were  chat- 
ting confidentially  be- 
hind the  teacher's  back. 
Little  scamps !  No 
doubt  he  was  the 
subject,  and  they  weic 
laughing  at  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  I'm 
afraid  you  must  just 
watch  and  listen," 
Mary  broke  in  on  his 
thoughts,  flashing  a 
merry  smile  at  him. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I'll  imag- 
ine I'm  at  school  again, 
only  it  will  be  more 
pleasant  than  my  actual 
experiences  at  school," 
he  answered,    inanely. 

The  lessons  pro- 
gressed. The  twins 
were  more  intent  on 
their  uncle  than  their 
studies,  and  Nolan  Avas 
uncommonly  interested 
in  the  teacher's  move- 
ments, more  so  than  in 
her  efforts  to  inculcate  knowledge  into  the 
heads  of  the  youngsters.  Once  he  looked 
up  and  caught  the  twins  grinning  and 
whispering  surreptitiously,  while  one  pointed 
a  finger  at  him  ;  another  time  little  Billy 
Badgley  stared  at  him  with  an  encouraging 
smile.  It  was  certainly  both  pleasant  and 
uncomfortable.  He  was  glad  he  had  come 
if  only  that  it  pleased  the  twins,  but  he 
felt  very  strange  and  awkward  :  somehow 
it  was  a  sensation  he  had  never  had  before  ; 
and  when,  as  the  teacher  placed  her  hand 
on  the  desk  near  him,  he  felt  an  almost 
irrepressible  desire  to  seize  it  and  kiss  it — 


he  only  restrained  this  folly  by  calling  him- 
self a  blithering  idiot. 

The  lessons  for  the  morning  were  over. 
Nolan  rose,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to 
move.  He  waited,  like  the  twins,  to  say 
"good-day"  to  Miss  Hall.  That  "good- 
day  "  was  not  said  inside  the  school-house, 
but  somewhere  near  the  Algers'  house, 
Avhere  Mary  left  the  trio  to  go  her  own  way, 
after  acquiescing  in  the  hope  that  "he  "  and 
"  she  "  might  meet  again. 

*  *  * 

Poor  Billy  Badgley  toddled  to  school  in 
bare  feet.     It  was  summer,  and  Billy  hated 
the  restrictions  of  boois  and  stockings;  also 
Mrs.    Badgley  found  it  saved  quite  a  con- 
siderable outlay  to  let 
her  pride  and  joy  have 
his    own    way     as    to 

Though  Billy  had  his 
way  in  this  respect,  he 
was  not  happy  this 
morning.  It  was 
teacher's  birthday,  and 
while  Billy  would  liked 
to  have  shown  that  he 
remembered  the  aus- 
picious event,  as  others 
no  doubt  would,  he  had 
not  a  present,  or  the 
means  or  the  oppor- 
tunity to  get  one. 
Moodily  he  took  his 
seat,  and  as  the  other 
scholars  went  one  after 
another  to  the  desk 
with  a  birthday  gift 
e  ach — chocolates, 
flowers,  and  the  like — 
a  big  lump  rose  in  poor 
Billy  Badgley's  throat. 
He  wanted  to  cry,  but 
manfully  struggled  to  hold  back  his  tears. 
It  was  a  gallant  fight  — the  tears  would 
well  up  in  his  eyes,  and  at  last  he  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer.  He  buried  his 
tousled  head  in  his  arms  on  the  form  and 
cried  as  if  he  were  the  most  miserable 
little  boy  in   the  whole  world. 

The  sound  of  the  choking  sobs  attracted 
the  teacher  ;  she  saw  Billy's  shaking  form, 
and  realising  what  was  the  matter  ran  down 
and  took  the  mite  in  her  arms. 

"  Why,  Billy,  what  is  the  matter  1 "  she 
asked  soothingly. 

For  a  moment  Billy  could   not    answei', 



"  Oh,  Mrs.  Badgley,  what  a  beautiful  pin. 

then  swallowing  his  sobs  he  n\uttered  : 

I  love  you  much  as  the  rest,  teacher, 
but  I  ain't  got  nuffin'  to  give  you." 

I  know,  Billy;  but  what  does  that 
matter  1  Don't  cry,  little  man.  I  tell  you 
what,  Billy,  I'll  come  and  see  you  and  mamma 
at  home  after  school,  just  for  my  birthday." 
'  Will  you  true,  teacher  ? "  said  Billy, 
looking  up  eagerly.  It  was  an  honour  for 
teacher  to  visit  his  humble  home. 

Yes,  Billy,  soon  after  school,"  she 
answered  to  reassure  him,  at  the  same  time 
remembering  she  had  promised  to  go  to  the 
Algers'  that  evening,  particularly  to  see  her 
fiance,  for  friendship  had  quickly  developed 
into  love  between  Nolan  and  Mary,  and 
already  she  wore  a  pretty  diamond  ring  on 
her  finger. 

That  same  day  Mrs.  Alger  had  sent  a  deal 
of  laundry  for  Mrs.  Badgley  to  operate  upon, 
and  the  honest  washerwoman,  sorting  out 
the  garments,  found  a  beautiful  pin  in  one 
of  the  blouses.  Intending  to  return  the  pin, 
which  undoubtedly  was  a  valuable  one,  she 
stuck  it  in  her  blouse  and  went  on  with  her 
work  till  her  pride,  Billy,  returned  from 
school.  Shortly  after  Billy  came  someone  else, 
but  instead  of  blustering  in  like  the  widow's 
mite,  this  second  person  politely  knocked. 

That's  teacher,"  ejaculated  Billy  as  he 
made  for  the  door.  "  It's  her  burfday,  so 
she's  coming  to  see  us." 

Good  gracious,  lad  !  Did  you  ask  her 
to  come,  on  washin'  day,  too  1 " 

Billy  had  no  answer  for  his  mother's  cry 

of  alarm — he  was  too  busy  opening  the  door. 

'  Come  in,  teacher,  please,"  cried  Billy, 

and  Mary  Hall  stepped  in,  lively  and  jolly 

as  her  wont,  particularly  when  visiting  the 

homes  of  her  poorer  pupils. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Badgley. 
Up  to  your  eyes  in  work,  as  usual," 
was  Mary's  cheerful  greeting. 

"Yes,  miss.  You  rather  flustered 
me.  Billy  didn't  say  as  you  was 
comin',"  said  the  widow,  wiping 
her  hands  on  her  apron. 

"  So,  you  young  scamp,  you 
kept  my  birthday  visit  a  secret," 
said  Mary,  shaking  a  finger  at  Billy. 
But  Billy,  now  perched  on  a  chair, 
did  not  seem  to  mind  the  ad- 
monishment much  or  take  it 

At    that   moment    Mary's    eyes 

caught  the  brilliant   pin    stuck   in 

the  widow's  blouse. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Badgley,  what  a  beautiful  pin," 

she  cried,   for,   like   all  young   vromen,  she 

liked   pretty  ornaments,  though  few  came 

her  way. 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  found  it  in  a  blouse.  It 
doesn't  belong  to  me,  indeed,"  said  Mrs. 
Badgley.  "  Would  you  like  to  look  at  it, 
miss  ? "  holding  it  out  to  her. 

"  Thanks.  Oh,  isn't  it  a  beauty.  Wouldn't 
I  like  one  like  this.  But — well,  I  have  not 
got  one,  that's  all."  And  Mary  laid  the  pin 
down  on  the  table  as  she  turned  to  look 
at  something  else  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
which  the  widow  had  to  show  her. 

This  was  where  Billy  entered  into  action. 
The  pin  was  within  his  grasp,  the  teacher's 
satchel  was  also  lying  on  the  table.  Billy 
connected  the  two  articles.  Teacher  had 
said  she  would  like  it ;  it  was  her  birthday 
also.  Then  why  not?  And  so  he  slipped 
the  pin  into  the  satchel,  and  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  table,  looking  as  innocent  as  a 
lamb,  said  nothing  till  the  "Good-bye  "  came ; 
but  in  his  heart  he  was  shouting  with  pride 
and  joy.  It  was  a  clever  achievement, 
cunningly  executed,  and  successful.      That 

was  little  Billy  Badgley's  idea. 

+  *  * 

When  Mrs.  Alger  discovered  the  loss  of 
the  precious  pin  she  was  ready  to  accuse 
anyone  of  theft.  Then  suddenly  she  remem- 
bered it  might  be  in  the  blouse  she  had  sent 
to  the  wash.  Calling  Nolan,  she  rushed  him 
off  down  to  Mrs.  Badgley.  That  good  lady 
was  not  prepared  for  this  second  visit,  and, 
to  be  truthful,  was  not  well  pleased  with  the 
interruption.  Still  she  had  to  be  respectful 
— Mrs.  Alger  was  one  of  her  best  patrons. 

"  Mrs.  Badgley,"  cried  the  newcomer,  out 



of  breath — she  and  Nolan   had    hurried — 
have  you  found  a  gold  pin  in  one  of  my 
blouses  *?     I  have  lost  one  and  I  am  sure  it 
was  in  my  silk  blouse." 

Sure,  I  have,  marm,"  replied  the  washer- 
woman, her  hand  going  to  her  breast  where 
She  had  previously  put  it.  I  stuck  it  in  my 
blouse,  intendin'  to  return  it,  marm.     Why, 

where  is  it?   I  had Oh,  of  course,  teacher 

called  in,  and  noticin'  it,  I  showed  it  to  her. 
she  must  have  put  it  down  somewhere  here," 
continued  Mrs.  Badgley,  searching  on  the 

Little  Billy  under  the  table  quaked.  He 
and  he  alone  knew  where  the  pin  was,  and 
now  there  appeared  to  be  some  trouble  over  it. 

It's  not  here,"  continued  Mrs.  Badgley, 
after  hunting  high  and  low  in  the  most 
impossible  places;  "perhaps  teacher  took  it, 
absent-minded  like." 

She  must  have  taken  it  if  she  was 
the  only  one  here,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Alger 

Don't  talk  like  that  till  you  are  sure," 
broke  in  Nolan,  in  defence  of  his  sweetheart, 
though  he  had  a  strange  feeling  of  doubt. 

Who  else  could  have  it,  then  ?  No  one 
else  has  been  here,  Mrs.  Badgley  says." 

Let  us  go  and  see  before  we  cast  stones," 
answered  Nolan,  feeling  annoyed  at  the 
situation;  and  off  the  two  went  again  to  find 
Mary,  followed  some  way  behind  by  the 
washerwoman,  desirous  of  clearing  herself. 
Billy  left  alone,  shook  with  fear.  They 
had  accused  his  beloved  teacher  of  stealing 
the  pin — and  it  was  his  fault.  Misgivings 
of  queer  forms  filled  his  infant  heart — he 
tried  to  imagine  the  consequences,  but,  poor 
little  fellow,  he  failed.     Visions  of  convicts 

^    i^^ 

"iLittle!Billy,  under  the  table,  quaked." 

he  had  once  seen  flooded  his  mind,  and 
climbing  on  a  chair  to  look  in  a  mirror  he 
beheld  himself  in  convict  garb.  Unhappy 
mite,  he  gave  way  to  his  fears,  and  for  the 
second  time  that  day  his  puny  frame  shook 
with  weeping.  Bitter  weeping  too,  for  he 
had  only  worked  to  make  someone  happy, 
and  instead  he  had  brought  evil. 

Mary,  on  leaving  the  washerwoman's  house, 
wandered  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  Alger 
house,  but  by  a  roundabout  way.  The  twins 
were  watching  for  her,  and  espying  their 
teacher  a  long  way  off  flew  to  meet  her.  At 
the  same  time  Nolan  and  Mrs.  Alger  came 
hurrying  up  from  the  other  direction. 
The  three  awaited  them. 
Mrs.  Alger  was  out  of  breath  and  out  of 
temper.  "  Mrs.  Badgley  tells  me  you  have 
taken  my  valuable  pin,"  she  shrieked  at 

"  I  taken  your  pin  !  Ridiculous  !  "  replied 
Mary  haughtily. 

"  No,  no.  Mrs.  Badgley  merely  said  you 
had  it  in  your  hands  last.  She  thought  you 
had  taken  it  in  mistake,"  put  in  Nolan. 

"  Do  you  imagine,  also,  that  I  took  the  pin 

away  1 "  inquired  Mary  of  her  flurried  fiance. 

"  Oh,  no;  certainly  not — not  intentionally." 

Nolan  wished  to  explain  himself,  but  Mrs, 

Alger  prevented  him. 

"  I  will  have  you  searched,"  she  cried,  and 
called  to  a  passing  policeman,  to  whom  she 
said  : 

This  person,  I  believe,  has  taken  a 
valuable  pin  of  mine.  Search  her  bag, 
please  !  " 

"  Do  you  mind.  Miss  ?"  said  the  constable, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  satchel. 

"Look  through  it  if  you  care  to,"  answered 
Mary,  impatiently,  angry  at  the 
accusation,  and  disgusted  with  her 
fiance  for  his  suspicions. 

The  eonstable  went  through  the 
{        satchel,     and    his     fingers    closed 
"■        round  the  pin,  so  slyly  placed  there 
I        by  Billy. 
J  Mary  gasped  with  amazement. 

Mrs.  Alger  gave  a  suppressed 
cry  of  joy,  and  threw  a  glance  of 
"  I  told  you  so "  at  Nolan,  who 
looked  as  if  he  would  like  the 
earth  to  open  and  swallow  him. 

Mrs.  Badgley,  who  had  arrived  in 
time  to  see  the  pin  drawn  forth, 
muttered  in  dismay,  "  I'd  never 
have  thought  it." 

Mary  stood  aghast,  too  surprised 



to  say  a  word.  No  doubt  Nolan  took  the 
silence  and  the  expression  on  Mary's  face  for 
guilt  and  fear  of  arrest,  for  he  stepped  over 
to  her  and  whis|  ered, "  Never  mind,  I  will 
see  they  do  not  arrest  you." 

'You,  too!"  was  all  .Mary  could  say  to 
this  added  insult,  then  taking  the  enga'^oment 
ring  from  her  finger  she  thrust  it  into  Nolan's 
hand  with  a  look  of  unutterable  disgust. 

He  stood  gazing  at  the  symbol,  scarcely 
aware  what  to  do  with  it,  M'hen  a  pitter- 
patter  of  bare  feet  canie  from  down  the  road. 
The  policeman  had  disappeared,  and  the  twins 
had  been  carried  off  a  little  way  by  their 
mother  as  if  she  feared  contagion.  The 
pitter-patter  came  nearer  and  resolved  itself 
into  little  Billy  running  for  all  he  was  worth. 

"I  did  it,"  he  cried  from  afar,  and 
continued  to  cry  as  he  came  near.  '  I  did 
it — I  put  the  pin  in  teacher's  bag  for  a 
burfday  present." 

I'm  sorrwy,  teacher.  I  'ad  nufhn'  to  give 
you ;  an'  I  didn't  think  it  was  stealin'." 
Tears  were  coming  into  Billy's  eyes  again, 
and  Mary,  as  she  had  done  before,  snatched 
him  up  in  her  arms. 

Nolan  crept  round. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mary,  dear.     I  knew  there 

must  be  some  mistake,"' he  said  ingratiatingly. 
"Who  made  the  mistake?  "  was  the  swift, 
unrelenting  answer. 

Well,  you  would  not  listen  to  me,  would 
you  ? " 

I  do  not  listen  to  those  who  can  think 
Ijad  of  me." 

'  But  I  never " 

'  You  did.  It  was  not  love,  but  pity  that 
made  you  endeavour  to  protect  m.e  from 
arrest."  Mary  was  sarcastic — could  afford 
to  be  now. 

Yet  pity  is  akin  to  love — and  is  there 
reason  why  Billy  should  have  all  of  both  1 " 
But  Mary  only  mixed  her  bonny  hair  with 
Billy's  tousled  locks  till  she  felt  an  arm  steal 
round  her  waist.  Then  she  sat  Billy  down 
and  turned  on  Nolan  with  all  the  anger  of  a 
disappointed  woman.  She  raked  him  fore 
and  aft  with  a  broadside  of  the  bitterest 
words  she  could  find — her  eyes  flashed  fire  ; 
but  Nolan  stood  it  all,  and  placed  a  neat 
shot  when  chance  made  it  possible.  Event- 
ually Mary  capitulated  ;  and  Billy,  seated  on 
the  top  step  of  the  Algers'  house,  enjoyed 
himself  immensely  as  Mary's  face  hid  itself 
somewhere  between  Nolan's  shoulder-bone 
and  his  collar. 

'ITTALLACE  REID,  who  has  just  joined  the 
»  ^  Reliance  and  Majestic  forces,  is  the  son 
of  Hal  Reid,  the  playwright  and  one-time 
film  producer.  On  his  own  account,  he  is  athlete, 
author-actor  and  the  youngest  director  in  film- 
dom.  Mr.  Reid  towers  to  a  height  of  six-feet 
two-inches.  Surveying  in  Wyoming,  poetry, 
newspaper  work,  acting,  and  collaborating  with 
his  father  in  writing  and  staging  plays,  gave  the 
young  college  graduate  a  great  deal  of  interest- 
ing experience.  It  was  out  of  sheer  curiosity 
that  he  started  to  learn  the  motion  picture 
business.  Four  years  ago  he  went  to  the  Selig 
Company  as  assistant  camera  man.  Soon  he  was 
playing  juvenile  leads.  This  led  to  the  Vitagraph, 
the  "American,"  and  the  Universal.  Since 
joining  the  Mutual,  he  has  staned  in  "Arms 
and  the  Gringo,"  and  "  The  Citv  Beautiful." 

^  I  ^HERE  is  encouragement  for  youthful 
■*-  scenario  writers  in  the  success  of  Miss 
Anita  Loos  of  San  Diego,  California.  This 
young  lady — she  is  only  eighteen — has  written 
many  film  plays  for  the  Majestic  and  Reliance 
Companies.  She  was  discovered  by  D.  W. 
Griffith  when  the  latter  was  chief  producer  to 
the  Biograph  Company. 

'TT^HE  Edison  Company  is  producing  a  film  of 


the    well-known   play,    "My  Friend    from 

India."  This  piece  had  a  very  successful 
run  in  New  York  City,  and  Walter  E.  Perkins, 
who  took  the  leading  role  in  the  legitimate 
production,  will  also  play  the  same  part  in  the 
film  version,  which  will  be  in  three  parts. 

JAMES  O'NEILL,  a  Blache  Star,  graduated 
from  the  University  of  Pennsj^lvania  as  a 
dentist,  where  he  was  a  fellow  student  of 
Fred  Mace.  James  O'Neill,  of  Solax  and  Blache 
features,  soon  went  the  way  of  the  footlights, 
and  rose  so  rapidly  to  fame  that  his  career  as  a 
Thespian  would  make  an  interesting  book  of 
manj'  pages. 

Although  well  rememliered  for  his  work  in 
"  An  American  (ientleman,"  with  Rose  Stahl  and 
Helen  Ware;  in  "  Up  York  State,"  with  David 
Higgins  ;  and  in  "  The  Men  of  Jimtown,"  with 
Howell  Hansen,  James  O'Neill  scored  his  great- 
est stage  success  in  "The  Burglar,"  bj- 
Augustus  Thomas,  in  which  he  starred  for  ten 
years.  As  a  motion-picture  star  he  received 
immediate  recognition,  and  has  been  appearing 
in  Solax  and  Blache  photo-dramas  for  the  past 
two  vears. 

On  the  iscreen 


Mr.  Strong  has  for  several  years  been  connected  with  one 
of  the  largest  houses  in  the  Film  Trade.  In  his  monthly 
article  this  keen  observer  discusses  happenings  in  the 
Picture  World  and  gives  his  ideas  and  suggestions  which, 
supported  by  such  practical  experience,  prove  valuable 
and  instructive  reading. 

HE  war  has  not  done  what  the 
prophets  toM  us  confidently  it 
would  do.  On  the  contrary, 
it  has  proved  a  spur  to  the 
film  trade.  Reports  from  all 
over  the  country  show  extra- 
ordinary success,  and  those  who  could  only 
see  black  clouds  hovering  over  the  hot  izon  at 
first  have  been  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
a,t  least  those  black  clouds  have  silver  linings. 
There  is  cause  for  optimism,  but  there  is  also 
the  need  for  effort  to  maintain  enthusiasm  in 
the  cinema.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
the  fillip  to  cinematography  in  Great  Britain 
is  to  some  extent  due  to  the  sudden  output 
of  topical  war  films  which  aroused  the 
patriotism  of  the  public.  The  time  will 
come  when  the  war  picture  will  be  nauseating, 
and  then  it  is  that  the  cinemas  will  have  to 
face  the  great  fight.  When  that  day  comes 
it  is  to  be  hoped  the  public  will  realise  that 
support  of  the  cinema  is  support  to  one  of 
the  greatest  industries  in  the  country,  which 
has  at  the  moment  an  opportunity  to 
entrench  itself  against  foreign  competition. 
Particularly  should  the  cinema-goer  remember 
that  Germany  has  for  years  dumped  enor- 
mous quantities  of  films  in  Britain,  and  is 
even  now  endeavouring  to  keep  her  footing 
on  the  market  by  sending  subjects  through 
Holland,  Italy  and  Scandinavia,  under 
different  trade  marks.  It  is  up  to  the 
British  trade  to  kill  the  German  cinemato- 
graph business  in  England,  and  thus  make 
room  for  British  manufactures.  German 
films  are  not  of  the  best  quality.  Now  and 
again  an  exceptional  film  has  come  over. 
The  British  and  American,  French  and 
Italian,   are    much  superior  to    the  general 

stuff"  turned  out  of  German  factories;  but 
the  Germans,  with  their  peculiar  methods, 
had  captured  a  large  slice  of  the  cinemato- 
graph trade  here  to  the  detriment  of  the 
home  market. 

*  +  * 

DO  you  realise  what  support  of  the  home 
market  means  1  It  means  the 
support  of  British  workmen;  and  the 
most  patriotic  thing  to  do  at  the  present 
moment  is  to  spend  as  far  as  you  can,  but 
see  that  what  you  spend  goes  into  the 
pockets  of  your  countrymen.  Beware  that 
when  you  go  to  the  cinema  your  money  is 
not  flowing  into  the  pockets  of  your  country's 
enemies.  Go  to  the  cinema  as  often  as  you 
can,  but  impress  on  your  manager  that  you 
only  want  to  see  films  produced  by  English- 
men, England's  Allies  or  Neutrals.  He  can 
get  them,  and  will  get  them  if  you  ask  him 


*  *  * 

IT  did  not  take  our  Editor  long  to  decide 
that  the  "Call"  was  directed  to  him 
personally,  and  so  he  went  straight  away 
and  is  now  at  X  (as  the  papers  say).  I  am 
sure  readers  of  '  Picture  Stories  Magazine  " 
will  join  with  me  in  wishing  him  the  best  of 
luck,  a  brush  with  the  enemy  and  a 
triumphant  return.  The  cinema  trade  has 
given  a  host  of  fine  fellows  to  the  country's 
service  in  this  day  of  trial.  We  know  they 
will  do  their  duty  well,  for  they  are  all 
sturdy,  sterling  fellows,  of  unquenchable 
spirit.  So  here's  to  them  again,  and  to  our 
patriotic  Editor  and  the  men  who  have  left 
our  staff  to  take  up  arms  in  the  cause  of 
justice  and  right,  which  the  Allies  are 



SOME  interesting  stories  are  being  told  of 
camera-men  at  the  front,  or  rather 
attempting  to  get  to  the  front.  I  was 
in  Brussels  myself  just  before  the  Germans 
entered,  and  I  made  friends  with  a  party  of 
half-a  dozen  camera-men  who  were  held  up 
in  the  capital.  Several  of  these  made  a 
burst  away  to  get  pictures  of  the  fighting  at 
Haelen,  but  though  they  got  in  the  firing 
line,  and  actually  took  pictures,  a  bullet  put 
one  of  the  cameras  out  of  action,  and  when 
the  men  got  back  to  Brussels  the  police 
destroyed  all  their  negatives. 

There  is  little  likelihood  of  us  ever  seeing 
any  actual  war  pictures.  Extremely  stringent 
measures  are  being  taken  to  prevent  cameras 
getting  within  miles  of  the  fighting.  It  is 
alike  in  Belgium  and  France,  only  in  the 
latter  country  the  government  have  allowed 
a  couple  of  operators  with  the  troops.  It  is 
a  moot  question  whether  this  refusal  of 
facilities  to  the  cinematographer  is  wise  or 
not,  yet  I  am  content  to  let  the  authorities 
know  best,  and  indeed,  I  hardly  see  what 
good  will  be  done  by  revealing  all  the 
terrible  incidents  of  battle.  We  shall  learn 
enough  of  the  devastating  effects  of  war 
from  the  pictures  we  shall  certainly  see  of 
the  ravaged,  burned  countryside.  I  have 
seen  enough  with  my  own  eyes  to  realise 
the  awfulness  of  war,  but  what  I  have  seen 
is  trifling  to  the  stories  I  have  heard  from 
British,  French  and  Belgian  friends  who 
have  been  in  the  m.iddle  of  the  fighting. 
Germany  has  a  deal  to  answer  for,  and  she 
will  answer  for  it  on  her  knees.  If  the  tales 
of  rapine  which  I  have  had  recounted  to  me 
are  one  tithe  true,  then  Germany  and  the 
Germans  deserve  no  mercy.  Cinema-goers  ! 
boycott  everything  German,  either  from 
Germany  or  handled  by  Germans. 
*  *  + 

ONE  of  the  most  unhappy  eff"ects  which 
is  to  be  traced  to  the  outbreak  of 
hostilities  is  the  postponement  of  the 
Kinematographic  Exhibition  which  was  to 
have  been  held  at  Olympia  in  September. 
This  exhibition  was  to  have  been  arranged 
on  a  grand  scale,  and  would  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  the  general  public  into 
closer  touch  with  the  inner  side  of  cinemato- 
graphy. We  were  promised,  also,  visits 
from  a  number  of  prominent  artistes,  and 
cannot  but  regret  that  they  have  had  to  be 
held  over.  We  hardly  know  the  film 
players  well  enough.  If  we  are  theatre 
patrons    we    know    our    favourite  actor    or 

actress  intimately.  Not  so  our  screen 
favourites — these  we  never  see  in  the  flesh, 
and  perhaps  we  form  some  very  crude  ideas 
of  their  personalities.  For  instance,  we 
scarcely  realised  what  a  rational  and  wonder- 
fully interesting  person  Miss  Florence  Turner 
is  until  we  shook  hands  and  talked  with  her 
at  the  Glasgow  Exhibition  at  the  beginning 
of  the  year.  So  it  is  with  others,  we  do  not 
know  and  get  the  right  interest  in  them  until 
we  see  them.  This  postponed  exhibition 
would  have  afforded  an  excellent  opportunity 
of  meeting  some  of  the  "  stars "  of  the 
profession.  It  is  a  pity  that  it  could  not  be 
held.  But  perhaps  in  January — I  hear  that 
it  is  quite  probable  that  the  exhibition  will 
now  take  place  early  in  the  new  year. 
*  p  * 

ONE  very  gratifying  effect  of  the  war 
has  just  come  particularly  before  my 
notice.  Previously  a  large  number  of 
firm.s  who  handled  films  placed  their  printing 
orders  abroad,  chiefly  in  Paris — I  mean  the 
printing  of  films.  Naturally,  they  have 
found  this  is  no  longer  possible,  and  all  such 
work  once  done  abroad  has  now  to  be 
executed  in  Great  Britain.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  France  should  be  hit  in  consequence,  as 
in  our  trade  fight  we  are  out  to  assist  our 
brave  ally,  but  France  must,,  under  the 
condition  of  things,  wait  till  campaigning  is 
over  in  the  land,  then  she  will  capture  a 
vast  amount  of  the  manufacturing  orders, 
which  hitherto  went  to  Germany.  It  will 
be  a  rejuvenated  and  reinvigorated  France 
that  will  rise  above  this  war,  and  she  will 
find  that  Britain  will  help  her  with  trade  as. 
well  as  with  troops  and  sympathy. 

In  another  direction  the  war  will  put  new 
life  into  the  British  film  interests.  Owing 
to  the  impossibility  of  producing  on  the 
Continent,  many  firms  have  notified  their 
intention  of  producing  over  here.  Great 
Britain  has  been  sadly  overlooked  as  a 
producing  country,  though  the  possibilities 
are  great.  Perhaps  circumstances  will 
bring  about  a  proper  recognition  and 
utilisation  of  these  possibilities,  it  would 
mean  the  building  up  of  a  great  industry 
and  the  foundation  of  smaller  industries  for 
the  needs  of  the  great  one.  Let  us  hope  the 
golden  era  of  British  cinematography  is  about 
to  open. 


0  doubt  many  cinema-goers  are  con- 
sidering retrenchment  in  their 
favourite  form  of  amusement.     It  is 



to  be  hoped,  however,  that  they  will  think 
twice  before  cutting  out  the  cinema  in  their 
pruning  of  expenses.  Retrenchment  on 
the  part  of  theatre  patrons  now  would  cause 
a  grave  injury,  in  that  it  would  demoralise 
the  trade  which  has  an  opportunity  of 
establishing  itself  firmer  than  ever.  Cine- 
matography and  its  many  ramifications 
employs  a  vast  number  of  people,  and  if  it 
should  come  that  theatres  had  to  reduce 
staffs  on  account  of  poor  patronage,  the 
misery  this  would  bring  about  would  recoil 
on  the  whole  vast  business.  Therefore  I 
would  implore  you  to  put  in  appearance  at 
the  cinema  as  regularly  as  ever.  You  need 
have  no  fear  that  there  is  or  will  be  a  falling 
off  in  quantity  or  quality.  All  the  studios 
are  working  at  top  speed  to  produce  feature 
films.  This  season  will  bring  out  some  of 
the  best  efforts  of  the  cinematographic  art, 
and  you  should  not  miss  them. 

CINEMATOGRAPHY  has  given  of  her 
best  to  the  country,  in  this,  her  hour 
of  need.  Hundreds  of  fine  young 
fellows  have  answered  the  call,  and  are  now 
at  the  front  or  in  training.  They  have 
poured  out  from  the  theatres,  from  the 
offices  and  from  the  studios,  many  of  them 
sacrificing  everything  in  their  intense 
patriotism.  You  also,  patrons  of  cinemato- 
graphy, can  do  something,  can  show  your 
patriotism  even  if  you  cannot  fight.  In 
theatres  all  over  the  country  appeals  are 
being  made  for  the  various  funds  which 
have  as  their  purpose  the  amelioration  of 
destitution.  Hundreds  of  theatres  are 
devoting  their  proceeds  to  one  or  another 
fund.  From  Glasgow  alone  over  a  thousand 
pounds  have  been  given  to  charity.  This 
means  money  right  out  of  their  pockets,  it 
means  the  money  you  spend  for  an  evening's 
amusement.  Is  it  not,  then,  worth  sup- 
porting the  cinemas  to  the  utmost  when  they 
are   doing   such  good  work?      Go    to   the 

cinemas,  go  more  often,  not  less  often  ! 
*         *         * 

But  the  picture  houses  have  not  stopped 
at  this.  They  are  proving  invaluable  re- 
cruiting agencies,  and  further,  they  are 
making  appeals  which  should  touch  the 
heart  of  everyone.  Particularly  opportune 
is  the  appeal  being  made  in  the  picture 
halls  for  cigarettes  for  the  soldiers.  You 
devotees  of  Lady  Nicotine  know  what  it 
means  to  be  without  a  smoke.  You  must 
realise  the  delight   of   a   puff   to   a   brave 

Tommy  who  has  been  fighting  all  day. 
Cinema  proprietors  are  asking  you  to  drop 
one  of  your  packet  of  ten  in  the  general 
box  to  be  forwarded  to  the  troops.  Will 
you  be  so  niggardly  as  to  ignore  the  appeal  ? 
Of  course  not.  I  knew  you  would  not, 
you  will  be  free  with  your  doles,  and  not 
only  single  '  fags,"  but  whole  packets  and 
bundles  will  tumble  into  the  pile  which  is 
going  to  bring  solace  to  hundreds  of  tired 
out  or  wounded  fighting  men. 
+  *  * 

THEY  are  beginning  to  squabble  in 
America  over  a  matter  which  we 
have  long  settled  here — the  question 
of  the  long  or  '  feature "  film.  They  are 
coming  to  reason  over  the  water  and  are 
beginning  to  understand  that  we  are  right. 
A  picture  is  not  a  'feature"  because  it  is  long, 
for  the  majority  of  long  films  are  padded 
films,  and  we  do  not  want  them.  What  we 
want  and  what  we  have  decided  and  im- 
pressed on  the  trade  we  will  have,  is  a 
concise  story  with  life  and  sustained  interest 
in  it.  Americans  are  demanding  the  same. 
They  have  put  up  with  what  the  producer 
thinks  they  want  long  enough,  and  arc 
asking  to  be  studied.  Perhaps  one  day  they 
will  take  another  hint  from  us  and  follow 
our  ideas  of  a  progi'amme  worth  sitting  out. 
+  *  * 

THIS  month  sees  an  innovation  in  the 
"Picture  Stories  Magazine,"  the  price 
being  raised  to  fourpence.  This  in- 
crease is  dictated  by  the  enormous  rise 
in  expenses,  particularly  the  papers  on 
which  this  magazine  is  printed.  Fourpence, 
after  all,  is  not  an  excessive  price  to  pay  for 
a  magazine  of  the  nature  of  this  one.  There 
is  no  other  journal  supplying  the  want  that 
"Picture  Stories  Magazine"  is  supplying. 
When  readers  realise  this  I  am  sure  they 
will  not  cavil  at  the  price.  They  will  go 
on  buying  and  reading  the  magazine  because 
they  want  and  like  it,  and  they  will  intro- 
duce it  to  their  friends  who  have  not  yet 
been  fortunate  enough  to  see  it.  Readers 
will  have  noticed  too  that  the  quality  has 
improved.  Our  birthday  number  brought 
numerous  congratulations  from  up  and 
down  the  country.  This  has  been  the  aim 
of  the  Proprietors  all  along — to  improve 
and  always  more  improve  the  journal  and 
its  contents.  You  will  admit  our  success 
so  far,  and  you  will  help  us  to  achieve 
further  success. 

With  the  Players 

^ITITALTER  LONG,  the  Reliance  leading  man, 
'  '  while  playing  a  crook  in  a  recent  Reliance 
detective  drama,  had  a  genuine  compli- 
ment paid  to  his  make-up.  The  company  was 
making  several  scenes  in  Santa  Monica  and  a 
short  intermission  had  been  given  for  lunch. 
Long,  in  his  crook  make-up,  went  into  a  small 
restaurant.  The  proprietor  ej-ed  him  all  over 
and  refused  to  serve  such  a  suspicious  looking 
character,  and  as  the  actor  was  starting  to  leave 
the  cafe  he  ran  into  the  arms  of  a  waiting  police- 
man. It  seemed  that  the  restaurant-keeper  had 
'phoned  the  police  the  moment  after  Long  had 
put  in  an  appearance.  Explanations  followed 
and  the  "crook"  was  permitted  to  return  and 
eat  his  lunch  in  peace. 

T^AVE  THOMPSON  is  to  appear  in  the 
-*— '  Thanhouser  productions  again  after  being, 
for  abovit  twelve  months,  Cast  Director  at 
the  New  Rochelle  Studios.  His  well-built  figure 
has  been  missed  during  the  time  in  which  he 
merely  arranged  the  stages,  placed  the  right 
people  with  the  right  producer,  superintended 
the  "make-up"  of  the  artistes,  ordered  the  cos- 
tumes, wrote  up  new  property  lists,  directed  the 
scenic  artists,  and  secured  people  for  the  next 
day's  work.  The  foregoing  was  Mr.  Thompson's 
employment  each  day,  after  which  he  had 
"  nothing  to  do  until  to-morrow,"  unless  some 
belated  producer  showed  very  plainly  that  he 
wasn't  finished.  Several  of  the  "Big"  produc- 
tions have  also  been  staged  and  rehearsed  by  Mr. 
Thompson,  whose  enthusiasm  for  the  pictures  is 
unlimited.  He  is  one  of  the  veteran  Thanhouser 
players,  born  in  Liverpool,  whose  future  work  in 
Thanhouser  Films  will  be  watched  with  interest 
by  many  people  who  will  remember  him  in 
former  days.  He  appears  to  advantage  in  "  The 
Pendulum  of  Fate,"  taking  the  role  of  "The 

CHARLIE  BENNETT,  we  hear  from  the 
Keystone  studio,  was  educated  for  the  law. 
He  used  to  go  play-acting  at  night,  though 
his  parents  little  suspected  his  duplicity.  He 
got  his  start  with  Edwin  Booth.  To  father  and 
mother  Bennett  all  actors  were  lost  souls,  so 
Charlie  felt  obliged  to  keep  his  eminent  connec- 
tions in  the  profession  a  profound  secret.  He  is 
one  of  many  people  now  famous  on  the  boards 

or  in  the  film  who  began  their  career  more  or 
less  surreptitiously.  To-daj%  Bennett  is  one  of 
the  most  popular  and  one  of  the  cleverest 
members  of  the  all-popular  Keystone  group. 

"jV/TR.  HARRY  ROYSTON,  the  actor  who 
i-TX  figures  at  the  commencement  of  this 
number,  is  an  experienced  pantomimist  of 
the  old  school,  and  was  for  many  years  the 
principal  comedian  to  Mr.  Fred  Karno. 

He  generally  acts  the  part  of  the  villain  in  the 
films,  having  especial  talent  in  this  direction.  A 
man  of  herculean  proportions  and  terrific 
strength,  no  encounter  or  struggle  can  be  too 
fierce  for  him,  and  some  of  the  fights  put  up  by 
"Our  Harry"  still  stand  unsurpassed  in  the 
annals  of  film  history. 

The  greatest  thing  he  ever  did  was  his  "  Bill 
Sykes"  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  everybody  agreeing 
that  such  a  splendid  and  life-like  rendering  of 
this  difficult  part  had  never  before  been  witnessed. 

Mr.  Royston  is  now  engaged  in  portraying  the 
important  part  of  "Dennis"  in  Hepworth's  latest 
production,  "  Barnaby  Rudge."  When  this  all- 
English  film  is  finished  it  will  be  found  that  Mr. 
Royston  has  greatly  added  to  his  own  personal 

MISS  ALICE  UE  WINTON,  whose  portrait 
appears  in  our  art  supplement,  is  the  very 
latest  recruit  to  the  picture  world  in 
general  and  to  the  Hepworth  Manufacturing  Co. 
in  particular. 

A  West  End  actress  of  great  repute,  her  name 
is  already  familiar  to  the  public.  A  skilful  and 
experienced  actress,  she  has  all  the  necessary 
attributes  for  a  successful  picture  player;  and 
now  that  she  will  constantly  be  appearing  in  the 
wide  and  unfettered  field  which  the  camera  offers 
for  her  art,  there  is  no  doubt  of  her  scoring  a 
series  of  big  successes. 

The  two  principal  parts  which  she  has  hitherto 
played  are  those  of  "The  Faithful  Governess," 
in  "One  Fair  Daughter,"  and  "The  Collier's 
Wife,"  in  "  A  Throw  of  the  Dice."  In  the  latter, 
her  impersonation  was  effectful  and  forceful  to  a 
degi-ee,  and  caused  the  critics  to  welcome  her  as 
a  great  acquisition  to  Pictureland. 

Miss  de  Winton  is,  by  the  way,  a  bit  of  an 
authoress,  and  both  of  these  two  stories  emanated 
from  her  pen. 

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The  Book  of  the  Scout  Movement! 

Boy  Scouts 

and  whal  ihey  do 


Imperial  Scout  Exhibition  1915 

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Volume  II 

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o-oO  of  Oooo 

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CONTENTS    FOR    NOVEMBER,    1914. 

VOLUME  ill.     No.    15. 

Scene  from  THE  BASILISK  (Hepworth). 


Mr.  W.   H.  WEST 
M.    MAX    FIGMAN 
Miss  ALMA   TAYLOR  ... 
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Miss  ANNA    NILSSON  ... 




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Picture  Stories  Magazine. 

No.  IS.     Vol.  III.     November,  1914. 

The  Passing  of  Diana. 

From  the  VITAGRAPH  Romantic  Photoplay  hij  H.  Von  Wentzel. 

Adapted  by  James  Coover. 

A    story    of    love    and  jealousy,    and    how    an    artist 

succumbs  to   the   wiles   of   his   beautiful   model,  who 

meets  with  a  tragic  fate. 


Rodney  Miiler 
Geoffrey  Brooke 

T  comes  to  four  pounds,  fourteen 
shillings,  and  eleven  pence 
half-penny, "said  the  landlord, 
'  and  I  should  be  very  glad 
if  you  would  pay  it  to-day." 
The  landlord  looked  as 
though  he  would  be  surprised  as  well  as 
glad.  He  glanced  about  the  studio  with 
some  contempt.  He  had  not  much  opinion 
of  artists,  and  had  rather  doubted  the 
wisdom  of  letting  the  place  to  Eodney 
Miller  at  all.  He  would  never  have  done 
so  but  that  it  had  remained  a  long  time 
vacant,  and  he  had  despaired  of  getting  a 
tenant.  For  some  time  the  young  artist 
had  paid  his  rent  regularly  enough,  but  now 
the  account  had  been  running  considerably 
longer  than  the  landlord  liked.  There  were 
artists,  he  had  heard,  Avho  made  piles  of 
money  by  their  pictures.  He  could  not 
understand  how  people  could  be  such  fools 
as  to  buy  them,  but  there  it  was.  However, 
Mr.  Miller  was  not  an  artist  of  that  sort. 
So  far  as  the  landlord  was  able  to  judge,  he 
had  not  a  penny  to  bless  himself  with.  The 
landlord  was  inclined  to  think  the  young 
man  had  been  starving  himself  for  some 
days.  But  that  was  not  his  business.  He 
wanted  his  rent. 

Rodney  Miller  looked  at  the  bill  in  a 
scared  fashion.  He  made  a  pretence  of 
casting  up  the  items  to  see  that  the  total 
was  correct,  though  even  if  he  had  succeeded 
in  knocking  off  the  pounds  and  leaving  only 
fourteen  shillings  and  eleven  pence  half- 
penny, the  settlement  of  the  account  would 
still  have  been  beyond  his  power. 

It's  all  right,"  he  said,  presently.  "  I 
shall  have  the  money  in  a  day  or  two.  I'm 
•expecting  to  sell  a  picture." 

,..      •      MARIE  TENER 

"Hump ! "  said  the  landlord.  "  I  shouldn't 
bank  much  on  that."  He  looked  round  the 
studio  again,  and  it  was  evident  that  he 
doubted  whether  any  picture  there,  or  the 
whole  of  them  together,  would  realise  the 
amount  of  his  account. 

"it  won't  do,"  he  went  on.  "I  must 
have  the  money  to-day.  I've  waited  long 
enough,  and  I  can't  live  on  promises.  I 
want  the  money,  or  I  must  ask  you  to  find 
other  lodgings." 

With  that  he  went  away,  leaving  Rodney 
Miller  staring  at  the  bill,  with  his  heart 
somewhere  down  in  his  boots.  He  had 
taken  this  place  with  such  high  hopes— had 
been  sure  that  his  undoubted  gifts  would 
soon  carry  him  to  success.  But  the  dealers 
would  scarcely  look  at  his  work,  and  his 
little  store  of  capital  had  gradually  diminished. 
It  was  a  case  of  everything  going  out  and 
nothing  coming  in.  Only  a  few  shillings  now 
stood  between  him  and  destitution — few 
shillings  and  a  few  pictures. 

Well,  he  would  not  despair  yet.  He 
would  try  again.  He  believed  in  his  pictures, 
and  it  might  be  that  he  could  induce  a  dealer 
to  purchase  one  of  them  if  he  tried  very  hard. 
A  guinea  or  so  might  persuade  his  landlord 
to  let  him  stay  a  few  days  longer. 

He  carefully  wrapped  up  one  of  the 
canvases  and  went  out.  The  dealer  to 
whom  he  submitted  it  was  not  anxious  to 
speculate.  He  admitted  the  merit  of  the 
picture,  which  was  a  decidedly  clever  study 
— the  head  of  an  old  man. 

"  It's  good  enough,"  said  the  dealer.  "  I 
don't  deny  that,  but  then,  you  see,  nobody 
knows  you.  Now,  I  daresay  in  ten  years' 
time,  or  five  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  may 
be  willing  to  give  you  quite  a  good  pric^ 




You  are  Circe  herself,'  he  cried." 

for  a  little  thing  like  that,  but  now — well, 
Mr.  Miller,  it  wouldn't  pay  me,  and  that's 

It  was  no  use  attempting  to  persuade 
him,  and  Rodney  was  about  to  wrap  the 
picture  up  again  when  the  dealer  said  : 

"  Look  here,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can 
do.  Leave  it  here  and  I'll  show  it  in  the 
Avindow.  If  it  sells  you  pay  me  a  commission ; 
if  it  doesn't — well,  there's  no  harm  done." 

It  was  a  chance,  at  any  rate,  and  Rodney 
left  his  picture,  which  the  dealer  at  once 
gave  a  conspicuous  place  in  his  window. 

The  result  was  far  and  away  better  than 
either  the  artist  or  the  dealer  expected.  It 
so  happened  that  Geoffrey  Brooke,  a  cele- 
brated African  explorer,  who  had  recently 
returned  from  an  expedition,  was  wandering 
about  the  city  that  day,  renewing  his  ac- 
quaintance with  picture-sellers,  dealers  in 
antiques  and  curios,  and  people  of  that  sort. 
Brooke  was  an  enthusiastic  collector,  he 
knew  a  good  painting  when  he  saw  it,  and 
it  was  a  hobby  of  his  to  patronise  clever 

young  artists  whose  work  showed  promise. 
He  was  passing  the  shop  when  Rodney's 
picture  caught  his  eye.  Both  subject  and 
workmanship  attracted  him,  and  he  went 
into  the  shop  to  examine  the  canvas  more 
closely.  His  appreciation  was  so  evident 
that  when  he  inquired  the  price  the  dealer 
promptly  doubled  the  figure  he  had  first 
intended  to  ask.  The  explorer  paid  cheer- 
fully, and  after  praising  the  picture  highly 
asked  some  questions  about  the  artist. 

Having  effected  the  sale,  the  dealer  had 
no  hesitation  in  telling  the  purchaser  that 
the  artist  was  a  young  man,  with  plenty  of 
talent,  bound  to  win  success  sooner  or  later, 
but  at  present  quite  unknown.  Mr.  Brooke 
asked  for  his  name  and  address,  and  having 
received  the  information,  called  on  Rodney 
without  loss  of  time. 

The  young  artist  at  that  moment  was 
anticipating  the  humiliation  of  confessing  to 
his  landlord  that  he  had  not  the  where- 
withal to  settle  his  account,  and  wondering 
where  an  earth  he  was  to  sleep  that  night 



Suddenly  there  was  a  knock,  and  the  land- 
lord himself  appeared,  hinging  the  door 

"  It's  come,"  thought  Rodney. 

But  the  landord  stood  aside.  "  Mr. 
Geoffrey  Brooke,"  he  announced,  and  there 
came  forward  a  big,  burly  man,  whose  face 
was  tanned  from  long  exposure  to  tropical 
suns.  He  stepped  forward  with  a  smile  and 
hand  outstretched. 

"Mr.  Rodney  Miller?"  he  said. 
That  is  my   name,"    returned  Rodney, 
taking  his  hand. 

Mr.  Brooke  came  to  the  point  at  once. 
I've  just  bought  your  picture.  It's  good — 
very  good.  You'll  get  on.  I'm  interested 
in  young  artists,  and  thought  I'd  call  and 
see  if  you  have  anything  else  I  might  care 
to  buy." 

As  he  spoke  he  began  to  wander  round  the 
studio,  stopping  to  examine  the  picture?, 
finished  and  unfinished,  which  were  scattered 
about  the  place. 

"That's  a  nice  bit,"  he  said,  standing  before 
a  landscape  which  stood  on  an  easel.  "  I'll 
buy  that.    What's  the  figure  1 " 

Rodney  stammered  out  something.  He 
could  not  believe  his  good  fortune. 

Before  the  explorer  left  he  had  bought  the 
landscape  and  two  other  pictures,  and  Rodney 
was  able  to  settle  with  his  landlord  and  leave 
himself  in  funds  sufficient  to  keep  him  for 
some  months. 

The  explorer  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
artist  as  well  as  to  his  Avork,  and  he  set 
himself  to  make  Rodney  Miller  the  fashion. 
Buyers  began  to  come  along,  and  the  young 
artist  soon  had  more  commissions  than  he 
knew  what  to  do  with.  He  had  to  get  a  more 
commodious  studio  in  a  more  fashionable 
quarter.  Society,  which  had  known  nothing 
of  him  and  cared  less  a  few  weeks  ago,  made 
much  of  him  now  that  Brooke  had  taken  him 
up.  Wealthy  art  patrons  recognised  his 
gifts,  and,  what  was  better,  bought  his 
pictures.  His  studio  became  a  fashionable 
resort,  and  his  private  view  "  days  were 
society  events.  Thanks  to  Brooke,  he  won 
success,  not  exactly  in  a  day,  but  in  a  sur- 
prisingly short  space  of  time.  Such  sudden 
fame  would  have  turned  the  heads  of  some 
young  fellows,  but  Rodney  Miller  had  some 
modesty  and  plenty  of  common-sense,  and 
success  did  not  spoil  him. 

He  got  to  know  Brooke  very  well  indeed, 
and  the  more  he  saw  of  the  explorer  the  more 

he    liked   him,   and    their  friendship  grew. 

Having  seen  his  protege  securely  established, 
Brooke  had  gone  off  to  take  a  holiday,  as 
he  expressed  it,  and  see  what  civilised 
countries  looked  like.  He  had  been  wander 
ing  about  Europe  for  three  or  four  months, 
when  one  morning  Rodney  received  a  letter 
from  him.  It  was  dated  from  Paris,  and 
informed  Rodney  that  the  writer  had  married 
a  charming  girl.  "  I  have  to  leave  her,  worse 
luck,"  he  wrote,  "  for  I'm  off  to  the  Congo. 
When  I  come  back  you  must  come  and  see 
us  and  make  my  wife's  acquaintance." 

The  letter  amused  Rodney.  It  was  just 
the  sort  of  impulsive  thing,  he  told  himself, 
that  Brooke  would  do — to  go  and  get  married 
and  then  rush  off  to  the  other  end  of  the 
world.  Rodney  wondered  what  his  wife 
thought  of  it,  and  what  she  was  like. 

He  had,  however,  other  things  to  think  of, 
and  soon  forgot  Mrs.  Brooke.  His  mind  just 
now  was  full  of  a  picture  he  was  going  to 
paint.  It  was  to  be  a  picture  of  Circe,  the 
temptress,  who  destroys  the  souls  of  men.  He 
had  been  trying  for  weeks  to  find  a  model. 
None  of  his  regular  models  would  do  for  the 
part.  The  Circe  he  hoped  to  fiind  must  be 
beautiful  and  cruel,  passionate  and  pitiless, 
with  allurement  in  her  face  and  merciless 
laughter  in  her  eyes.  He  advertised,  and 
interviewedscoresof  models,  professional  and 
amateur,  but  without  finding  the  Circe  he 

One  morning  he  was  almost  ready  to 
despair.  The  applicants  had  been  more  than 
usually  impossible.  He  began  to  wonder  if 
there  was  in  the  whole  town  anybody  who 
came  within  reasonable  distance  of  the  model 
he  was  looking  for.  Then,  the  very  last 
of  the  applicants,  came  one  who  was  different 
from  all  the  rest.  Beautiful  as  an  angel, 
was  his  first  thought  when  she  sat  in  the 
chair  opposite  him.  Her  eyes  held  him  from 
the  first  moment.  They  were  not  the  eyes 
of  an  angel  though.  What  were  they  ?  He 
could  not  tell,  and  gave  up  wondering.  They 
were  the  eyes  he  wanted,  and  when  she 
smiled  he  knew  that  he  had  found  his  Circe 
at  last. 

That  smile  stirred  him  strangely,  and  he 
could  hardly  compose  himself  to  ask  the 
usual  questions.  It  appeared  that  she  was 
an  artist's  model.  She  had  seen  some  of  his 
work,  and  was  very  anxious  to  pose  for  him. 
He  was  flattered,  and  it  was  arranged  that 
her  duties  should  begin  at  once. 

When  she  had  attired  herselfin  the  costume 



he  had  designed  and  taken  up  her  position 
in  the  studio  he  could  not  repress  an 
exclamation  of  delight. 

'You  are  Circe  herself,"  he  cried.  "I 
never  hoped  to  find  anybody  so — so  exactly 
what  I  had  imagined." 

She  smiled  at  him,  a  strange,  slow  smile 
which  was  wonderfully  sweet  and  alluring. 
It  was  with  a  curious  feeling  of  intoxication 
that  he  began  to  work. 

The  days  went  by  almost  as  in  a  dream. 
They  did  not  talk  much,  and  the    picture 

enough,  but  I  cannot  do  any  more  to  it.  Comol 
and  look."  I 

And  she  came,  walking  slowly  and  grace-: 
fully  in  the  trailing  robe  which  left  her  lovely; 
shoulders  bare.  She  stood  close  to  him,j 
looking  at  the  picture.  I 

Oh,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  too  beautiful] 
— much  too  beautiful." 

"  No,"  he  whispered  ;  "  no  !  She  is  not 
nearly  so  beautiful  as  you — you "  i 

His  hand  touched  her  shoulder,  and  the; 
touch    sent   a   tremor   through    his    frame.  1 

*'  She  sang  tender  love  songs  of  a  bye-gone  daj'. 

made  progress.     One  day  he  asked  for  her 

Oh,"  she  said,     what  does  that  matter  1 
Call  me  Diana— just  that." 

As  he  looked  at  her  beautiful  shoulders  and 
superb  figure  he  thought  the  name  suited  her. 
But  then  her  eyes  and  her  smile — no,  she  was 
Circe.  He  turned  to  his  canvas  again  and 
worked  on,  well  content. 

There  came  a  day  when  he  threw  his 
brushes  and  palette  to  the  floor.  "It  is 
finished,"  he  cried.    "  It  is  not  half  beautiful 

Suddenly  she  turned^  and  murmuring,  I  love 
you,  I  love  you  "  threw  her  white  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  pressed  her  burning,  passionate 
lips  to  his.  '■ 

And  he  was  sure  that  he  loved  her.  Who , 
she  was  he  had  never  been  able  to  find  out.  She ' 
was  certainly  no  ordinary  artist's  model,  for  | 
sometimes  an  elegant  motor-car  was  in  wait- ' 
ing  for  her  at  the  studio  to  take  her  home  i 
when  work  was  over  for  the  day.  Rodney,  ' 
after  the  day  when  she  had  declined  to  tell ' 
him    her   name,    had   made   no  attempt  to 



penetrate  the  n>ystery  with  which  she  chose 
to  surround  herself.  It  was  enough  for  him 
now  that  he  loved  her  and  that  she  loved 

The  car  was  waiting  for  her  this  afternoon, 
and  as  he  was  holding  the  door  open  for  her 
a  boy  came  up  with  a  telegram  for  him.  It 
was  from  a  friend  and  patron,  Mr.  Henry 
Warren,  reminding  Kodney  of  his  promise  to 
spend  a  week-end  at  l.ldenhurst,  Warren's 
country  place.  "  My  daughter,  Eva,  is  long- 
ing to  see  you,"  the  message  ended. 

Let  me  see  it,"  said  Diana,  and  without 
thinking  he  handed  her  the  telegram.  She 
read  it  with  a  frown  on  her  face.  "  Of  course 
you  won't  go  V  she  said. 

Oh,  yes,  I  think  so,"  he  answered.  "Why 
not  ? " 

For  all  answer,  Diana  crumpled  up  the 
paper  and  threw  it  to  the  ground  with  an 
angry  exclamation.  It  was  only  when  Rodney 
picked  up  the  telegram  after  the  car  had 
driven  away  that  he  guessed  at  the  cause  of 
her  anger — "  My  daughter,  Eva,  is  longing 
to  see  you."     He  was  not  ill-pleased  at  the 

thought  that  Diana  was  jealous. 

*         *         * 

Rodney,  who  was  now  a  painter  of  import- 
ance, had  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  purchaser 
for  his  Circe.  The  picture  was  bought  by 
a  famous  art  dealer,  who  announced  his 
intention  of  making  it  the  chief  attraction  in 
a  forthcoming  exhibition. 

Rodney  accepted  Mr.  Warren's  invitation, 
and  found  the  week-end  at  Eldenhurst  so 
pleasant  that  he  required  very  little  pressing 
to  extend  his  stay.  He  would  have  found  it 
difficult  at  first  to  say  what  made  his  visit  ^o 
enjoyable.  His  host  was  kindness  itself,  the 
place  was  a  paradise  of  sylvan  beauty,  and  he 
could  paint  to  his  heart's  content.  A  nd  there 
was  Eva.  She  reminded  him  of  a  wild  rose. 
She  was  shy,  sweet,  and  charming.  He  caught 
himself  once  thinking  that  the  contrast 
between  her  and  Diana  was  the  contrast 
between  the  pure,  fresh  air  of  a  spring 
morning,  and  the  close  and  enervating 
atmosphere  of  a  ball-room.  lie  blamed  him- 
self for  the  thought,  but  it  came  to  him  again 
and  again  as  the  beautiful  summer  days  went 

He  drew  crayon  sketches  of  Eva  in  her 
cool  summer  frock  and  bewitchitig  sun-bonnet, 
and  in  the  evenings  she  sang  tender  love-songs 
of  a  bye-gone  day,  accompanying  herself  on  the 
harp.  And  there  came  an  evening  wh(  n  he 
hadtoask  himself  fairly  and  squarely  whether 

it  was  Diana  or  Eva  ihat  he  loved.     That 
night  he  proposed  to  Eva  and  was  accepted. 

On  the  day  he  retuined  to  town  he  found 
Diana  at  his  house  waiting  to  see  him. 

You  have  been  so  long  away,"  she  said 
reproachfully.  '  I  thought  you  W'  re  never 
coming  back.  I  don't  believe  you  love  me 

Rodney  was  silent  for  a  little,  then  he  told 
her  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  had 
never  really  loved  her,  and  now  he  was 
engaged  to  someone  else.  He  said  it  as  gently 
as  he  could,  but  even  to  him  itsounded  brutal. 
There  was  a  terrible  scene.  !She  clung  to  him, 
weeping  and  beseeching,  and  when  he  dis- 
engaged her  arms  and  turned  away  she 
opened  her  bag  and  took  out  a  tiny  jihial. 
Slie  had  it  almost  at  her  lips  when  he  saw 
her,  and  snatched  the  phial  away  with  a  cry 
of  horror,     fehe  left  him  then. 

The  day  you  marry  Eva  Warren  I  shall 
die,"  were  her  parting  words,  spoken  with 
such  intensity  that  he  was  convinced  that 
she  meant  what  she  said. 

A  day  or  two  later  Brooke,  who  had 
returned  earlier  than  he  had  anticipated, 
called  to  look  him  up,  and  Rodney  feeling 
the  need  of  a  confidant,  told  his  friend  of 
the  scrape  in  which  he  had  got  himself. 

Brooke  laughed  at  his  fears. 

"  Never  take  women  seriously,  my  boy," 
he  said,  giving  Rodney  a  hearty  slap  on  the 
back.  "  Laugh  at  'em.  That's  the  way  to 
treat  women." 

But  then  he  did  not  know  Diana. 
*  *  * 

It  was  about  a  week  later  that  Rodney 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  Brooke, 
and  he  Avent  to  the  house  wondering  what 
bis  friend's  wife  would  be  like.  The  ex- 
plorer welcomed  him  effusively,  and  took 
him  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  My  wife  will  be  here  in  a  n>inute  or 
two,"  he  said.  "I'm  sure  you  two  will  like 
each  other.  1  haven't  told  her  who's  comnig. 
I  ju.•^t  said  you  were  an  old  friend.  She'll 
be  delighted  to  know  it's  Rodney  Miller,  the 
famous  artist." 

Rodney  laughed,  and  Brooke  turned  away 
to  speak  to  a  servant.  Rodney  had  his  back 
t)  the  door.  Some  slight  sound  caused  him 
to  turn,  and  there,  quite  close  to  him,  was  — 
1  'iana !  She  recognised  him  at  the  same 
instant.  She  gave  a  gasp  and  started  back, 
her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  from 
them.  Her  face  looked  iii  a  moment  drawn 
and  haggard,  and  there  was  fear  in  her  eyes. 



Rodney  was  startled  too,  and  gazed  at  her 
in  bewilderment.  What  on  earth  was  she 
doing  here  1 

Brooke's  hearty  voice  broke  in.  "Ah, 
there  you  are  !  Diana,  this  is  Mr.  Rodney 
Miller,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  a  fine 
artist.  He  shall  paint  your  portrait — by 
the  Lord  he  shall  ! " 

Rodney  could  not  help  shuddering,  but 
Diana  made  a  desperate  effort,  and  began 
chattering  away  in  quite  a  natural  manner. 

Fortunately,  Brooke  noticed  nothing,  and 
they  went  into  dinner.  Rodney  was  in 
torment,  and  when  presently  Brooke  said  to 
his  wife,  "We  must  go  to  the  Turner  Gallery 
to-morrow  and  see  Miller's  new  picture, 
Circe,' "  he  felt  as  though  he  must  scream 
aloud.  That  picture— the  temptress  in  all  her 
voluptuous  allurement — was  Brooke's  wife  ! 
He  would  recognise  her  in  a  moment.  It 
was  horrible  to  think  of. 
('  Brooke  went  out  of  the  room  to  see  to 
the  wine,  leaving  his  wife  and  Rodney 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  Brooke 
returned,  and  they  talked  once  more  of 
unimportant  things.  At  last  Rodney  felt 
that  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  The  meal 
was  only  half  over,  but  he  feigned  a  sudden 
illness,  and  got  away.  Brooke  was  all 
anxiety,  and  would  have  seen  him  home, 
but  Rodney  begged  him  to  go  back  to  his 

The  artist  was  at  his  wit's  end.  To  let 
the  picture  remain  in  the  gallery  for  Brooke 
to  see  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Yet  how 
could  it  be  prevented  1  The  gallery  was  to 
be  opened  to  the  public  to-morrow.  At  last 
Rodney  determined  to  go  to  the  dealer  who 
had  bought  the  picture,  and  beg  him  to 
withdraw  it  from  the  exhibition. 

He  acted  upon  the  determination,  but 
the  dealer  declared  that  such  a  thing  was 
quite  impossible.  He  refused  to  consider 
the  proposal  for  a  moment.  In  despair 
Rodney  went  home.  He  found  Diana  there. 
He  told  her  of  his  failure,  but  she  refused 
to  accept  it  as  final. 

"  The  car  was  wedged  between  two  huge  masses  of  rock." 

You  must  get  the  picture  back  at  any 
cost,"  .-he  breathed  across  the  table. 

I  cant,"  he  answered,  hopelessly.  ' It's 

You  must  ! " 

You   must  go  to    the   gallery  to-night  j 

yourself,    and   get   the   picture,"    she   said,  i 

"  You  must.     I  daren't  let  my  husband  see  j 

it.     Oh,  promise  me  you  will  go."  ' 

He  promised,  though  what  he  would  do  I 



when  he  got  to  the  gallery 
he  had  not  the  least  idea. 
When  Diana  had  gone 
home  he  took  his  case  of 
painting  materials  and 
went  out.  At  the  gallery 
he  found  a  sleepy  com- 
missionaire on  guard,  and 
explained  that  he  had  come 
to  touch  up  his  picture  a 
little,  before  the  exhibition 
opened.  The  commission- 
aire offered  no  objection, 
and  declining  his  offer  of 
assistance,  Rodney  passed 
through  into  the  great 
silent  gallery.  He  knew 
where  his  picture  was 
hung,  and  turning  on  the 
electric  light  he  found  a 
pair  of  steps,  and  placed 
them  in  position. 

Diana's  face,  Diana's 
eyes,  looked  at  him  out  of 
the  canvas.  It  was  truly 
a  wonderful  likeness. 
Brooke  must  not  see  it. 
But  to  get  the  picture 
away  now  was  impossible. 
The  commissionaire  would 
not  let  him  pass  with  it. 
There  was  only  one  thing 
to  do — he  must  destroy  it, 
slash  out  the  face  which 
he  now  hated.  Slowly  he 
produced  from  the  case  a 
long,  keen-bladed  knife. 

No  !  He  could  not  do  it.  This  was  his 
masterpiece,  the  finest  work  he  had  ever  done. 
He  would  not  destroy  it.  He  had  thought  of 
a  better  way.  With  feverish  haste  he  got 
out  his  palette,  his  brushes,  and  his  colours, 
and  with  a  few  skilful  touches  he  had  made  of 
it  a  different  face.  It  was  still  beautiful, 
still  alluring,  still  Circe,  but  no  longer 
Diana.  Satisfied  that  the  picture  could  now 
safely  meet  Brooke's  eyes,  Rodney  packed 
up  his  case  and  left  the  gallery,  waking  the 
sleeping  commissionaire  to  bestow  a  tip 
upon  him. 

Brooke  was  loud  in  his  praise  of  the 
picture  next  day,  and  Diana,  when  her 
husband  was  not  looking,  grasped  Rodney's 
hand  and  gave  him  heart-felt  thanks.  Only  the 
dealer  who  had  arranged  the  exhibition  had 
any  complaint  to  make,  and  in  reply  to  his 
protest,  Rodney  said  : 

Diana's  battered  lifeless  body." 

"  If  you  are  not  satisfied  I  am  willing  to 
buy  the  picture  back." 

The  dealer  said  no  more  about  the  matter. 
+  +  * 

Rodney  saw  little  of  Mrs.  Brooke  during 
the  days  that  followed.  He  began  to  think 
that  that  chapter  in  his  life  was  closed,  and 
to  look  forward  to  happiness  with  Eva.  He 
and  Eva  had  met  the  Brooke's  once  at  an 
evening  party,  and  it  seemed  to  Rodney 
that  Diana  was  very  charming  to  the  girl. 
If  he  had  seen  her  change  of  expression 
after  Eva  had  left  her  he  Avould  not  have 
felt  so  sure  that  everything  was  right.  Diana, 
indeed,  had  all  she  could  do  to  disguise  her 
jealous  hatred  of  the  girl.  She  was  deter- 
mined to  prevent  Eva's  marriage  to  Rodney, 
and  recked  nothing  of  what  her  own  fate 
might  be. 

But  the  days  flew  past  and  the  eve  of  the 



wedding  arrived.  On  the  following  day 
Rodney  would  be  married  to  another  woman. 
The  thought  was  torture  to  Diana,  and  she 
determined  to  act.  She  ordered  the  car  to 
be  brought  round,  and  drove  to  Rodney 
Miller's  house.  He  was  not  in.  She  wrote 
a  note,  folded  it,  and  placed  it  in  a  vase  of 
flowers  on  his  writing  table,  where  he  could 
not  fail  to  see  it.  Then  she  went  on  in  the 
car  to  Eldenhurst,  a  few  miles  out  of  the 
town.  Eva  was  willing  enough  to  go  for  a 
run  in  the  car  with  her. 

When  Rodney  Miller  returned  to  his 
house  he  found  Mrs.  Brooke's  note.  This 
is  what  she  had  written  : 

"  By  the  time  you  receive  this  note 
I  shall  have  gone  to  my  Maker.  But 
not  alone — I  shall  have  taken  her  with 
me — the  girl  you  love." 
"  My  God  !  "  gasped  Rodney,  with  white 
face  and  staring  eyes.  What  a  fool  he  had 
been  to  think  such  a  woman  could  forgive 
or  forget.  Already  the  girl  he  loved  might 
have  fallen  a  victim  to  her  jealous  fury. 
But  there  might  be  a  chance  to  do  some- 
thing. He  ordered  out  his  car  and  started 
in  pursuit.  Fortunately  there  had  not  been 
much  time  lost,  and  he  reached  Eldenhurst 
soon  after  Diana  and  Eva  had  started  away. 
He  followed  in  the  direction  which  they 
were  said  to  have  taken.  At  a  place  where 
the  road  was  under  repair,  the  workmen 
told  him  that  a  car  with  two  ladies  had 
gone  by  only  a  few  minutes  earlier. 
There  was  something  wrong,  they  said.  One 
of  the  ladies  had  called  out  to  them,  frantically 

begging  them  to  stop  the  ear,  but  it  was 
going  too  fast  for  that. 

Rodney  hastened  on  with  a  chill  fear 
growing  at  his  heart.  Suddenly  he  realised 
where  they  were,  and  where  Diana  was 
making  for.  This  road,  growing  more  and 
more  rough,  led  only  to  an  old,  disused 
stone  quarry.  Diana,  with  Eva  as  her 
captive,  was  driving  to  a  terrible  death.  At 
last,  far  ahead,  he  saw  the  car.  It  was 
swaying  dangerously  from  side  to  side,  and 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  struggle  as  the  car 
di>appeared  round  a  corner.  His  own  car 
was  doing  its  utmost.  It  was  hopeless  to 
think  of  overtaking  the  other.  It  was 
horrible  to  think  of  Evabeing  dashed  to  death 
while  he  was  powerless  to  save  her.  He  shud- 
dered, but  kept  on.  He  turned  the  corner  and 
saw  the  car  again.  It  had  almost  reached 
the  edge  of  the  quarry,  and  involuntarily  he 
lowered  his  eyes. 

What  was  that  lying  by  the  side  of  the 
road  1  He  pulled  the  car  up  with  a  sudden 
jerk,  sprang  out  and  bent  over  the  prostrate 

"  Eva,"  he  called.  "  Eva,  darling.  Speak 
to  me." 

The  girl  shuddered,  opened  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Rodney,"  she  cried,  and  burst  into 

They  found  Mrs.  Brooke's  car  wedged  be- 
tween two  huge  masses  of  rock,  and  Diana's 
battered,  lifeless  body  far  below. 

Brooke  and  everybody  else,  even  Eva, 
thought  that  Diana  was  insane  when  she 
took  that  terrible  leap.  Rodney  Miller 
could  have  thrown  some  light  upon  the 
matter,  but  he  kept  his  own  counsel. 

T7DWARU  BOULUEN,  of  the  Edison  Com- 
-'— '  pany,  wliose  slimness  makes  him  eligilile 
foi"  certain  character  parts,  tells  a  story  of 
a  letter  received  from  an  elderly  lady  expressing 
her  desire  to  adopt  Edward  with  the  intention  of 
bringing  him  up  to  be  a  model  young  man. 
Boulden  declined  the  offer  without  informing 
her  just  how  many  years  he  had  been  old  enough 
to  vote. 

A   REPORTER  was  interviewing  Edison,  "And 

-*^*-     you,  six-,"  he  said  to  the  inventor,  "made 

the  first  talking  machine?"     "  No,"  Mr. 

Edison  replied,    "the  first  one   was  made  long 

before  my  time — out  of  a  rib." 

— E.i'press  Overseas  Mail. 

\  LADY  bather  got  out  of  her  depth  the  other 
■^^-  day  at  Margate.  Her  screams  were 
answered  by  a  well-known  picture-actor  of 
the  "  Daring"  type.  A  few  strokes  carried  him 
to  the  spot,  and  he  reached  out  a  muscular  arm 
to  grip  the  poor  lady,  who  was  just  about  to 
sink.  But  her  frantic  struggles  just  at  this 
moment  dislodged  her  bathing-cap,  which  soon 
floated  away,  carrying  with  it  her  wig. 

"Oh,  save  my  hair  !"  she  cried.  "Save  my 
hair  ! " 

"Madam,"  replied  the  gallant  rescuer,  hauling 
her  in,  "  I  love  saving  life,  but  I  am  not  a 
hair-restorer. " 

— Pictures  and^Pidurcgoer. 

His  Ambition— and  its 

By  Evan  Strong,  and  accentuated  by  Sys. 

IS  cognomen  was  John  Wyllie, 
but  he  quickly  became  'John 
Willie."  "What's  in  a  name?" 
you  may  say,  having  read  a 
little  ;  well,  a  great  deal  some- 
times. For  instance,  if  you 
repeat  John  Willie  half  a-dozen  times  rapid- 
ly you  will  obtain  a  very  good  idea  of  what 
our  new  'star"  was  like.  Long,  gaunt, 
always  with  a  furtive  look  over  the  shoulder, 
as  if  he  feared  his  wife  was  running  after 
him — he  was  the  sort  of  fellow  who  reminded 
one  of  a  yard  of  curdled  milk.  He  walked 
on  two  legs  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  his  stride 
was  more  like  the  prospective  jump  of  a 
kangaroo  arrested  half-way  through  by 
cramp.  He  had  a  voice  which  reminded 
one  of  a  musical  frog  suffering  from  an 
attack  by  a  poodle  driven  by  a  double- 
headed  eagle 

John  Willie  was  under-assistant  at 
Twillings  &  Co.,  the  first  house  in  the  town 
for  underwear 
and  ladies' 
as  the  adver- 
tisements ran. 
His  duties  con- 
sisted of  bow- 
ing to  fish- 
wi  ve  s  and 
playing  on 
their  flattery 
by  addressing 
them  some- 
what as 
follows :  " 

in',  madam. 
What  can  I  do 
for  you  t'day, 
madam?  Nice 
line     here    in 


No.     Perhaps 

this  I  would 

interest  you — ver'  cheap.  Not  any  thing 
like  them  in  town.  You'll  take  a  pair, 
madam?  Thank  you,  madam.  And  the 
next,  please  1  Nothing  more  to-day  ■?  Thank 
you,  madam.  Elevenpence-three-farthin's. 
SIGN.  Your  change,  madam.  Thank  you. 

I  believe  he  had  got  to  saying  this  by 
heart,  because  he  invariably  started  with 
the  woollen — and  ran  down  the  list  with 
every  refusal.  However,  this  was  not  hi» 
only  task — sometimes  he  would  be  sent  out 
to  a  customer,  and  such  occasions  provided 
an  excuse  to  dash  off  to  the  theatre  and 
feast  on  the  posters  and  programmes  with 
gnawing  envy  in  his  breast  as  he  thought  of 
the  waste  of  fulsome  flattery  and  printer's 
ink  on  individuals  less  worthy  of  note  than 
himself.  For  John  Willie  had  a  great 
opinion  of  his  artistic  qualities.  He  aspired 
to  the  stage.  Oft  when  trade  was  slack  he 
would  draw  to  the   corner  and  dream  and 

dream  of 
himself  as 
"  Piazzo  "  out- 
singing  Caru- 
so, of  the 
storming  ap- 
p  1  a u  s  e  of 
and  million- 
airesses, fete- 
ing  and  lion- 
ising, and  so 
forth,  till  a 
voice  sounded 
in  his  ears  : 

again,  John 
Willie!  If  I 
catch  you  once 
more,  once 
more  only,  out 
you  go.  The 
next  time  a 
week's    notice 

Yes,  mam  !     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 



on  the  spot,  so  take  note." 

The  sword  of  Damocles 
held  over  his  head  only  fired 
his  zeal  to  perfect  himself 
ready  to  launch  into  the 
'  star"  world.  The  radiance 
of  his  dreams  blinded  him 
to  all  else  in  life.  He  would 
attain  to  that  which  he  knew 
he  was  fitted  above  all  others. 
oThe  Saturday  came  when 
John  Willie  drew  his  salary 
as  usual — they  called  it  salary 
at  Twilling's,  so  much  more 
respectable,  you  know — and 
went  out  to  deny  himself 
supper  that  night  and  to 
feed  on  biscuits  all  day 
Sunday  to  be  prepared  with 
his  fee  for  the  singing  master 
on  Monday.  An  opera 
singer  he  would  be,  and  so,  free  of 
work  on  that  eventful  day,  he  hastened  to 
his  first  lesson.  He  never  got  beyond  the 
first  lesson — as  a  matter  of  fact  he  never 
got  through  it.  His  first  attempt  was  some- 
thing between  the  growl  of  a  lion  with  the 
toothache  and  the  screech  of  unoiled  hinges 
of  a  badly  hung  door.  The  master  having 
pocketed  the  fee,  was  so  astounded  at  the 
volume  of  sound  which  hit  him  full  in  the 
drum  of  the  ear,  that  in  the  excitement  of 
his  discovery  he  seized  a  handy  music-stand 
and  struck  Willie  such  a  thwack  on  the  top 
of  the  head  that  his  jaw  went  to  with  a  jolt 
which  made  the  windows  rattle  in  harmony. 
John  Willie  in  that  moment  communed 
with  more  "stars "  than  he  ever  would, 
even  supposing  he  rose  to  the  very  heights  of 
his  ambition.  And  he  did  not  relish  the 
firmament,  but  his  zeal  was  dampened  not  a 
bit;  in  fact,  the  subsequent  friction  at  the 
affected  area  tended  to  inflame  it — the 
ambition,  of  course. 

Though  he  came  to  realise  that  singing 
had  its  disadvantages,  Willie  still  clung  to 
the  idea  that  he  would  be  an  actor,  naturally 
at  Drury  Lane,  or  other  great  houses.  He 
went  straight  away  to  a  dramatic  school  : 
two  evenings  a  week  after  eight  o'clock — fee 
five  shillings  for  twelve  lessons;  perfection  in 
histrionics  guaranteed. 

He  paid  his  fee  again  and  recited  a  verse 
from  "  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade," 
which    Tennyson   appears  to  have  written 

for   this   purpose.     That  was  enough . 

As  his  vocal  organs  got  to  work  the  school 

"Made  friendly  advances." 

fell  on  him  like  one  man — and  told  him  he 
lisped  (he  did  when  they  had  finished  with 
him).  Now  a  man  who  lisps  cannot  be  an 
actor.        Fancy     hearing     your     favourite 

dream"  appealing:  "Fliendth,  Roman th, 
counthlymen,  lend  me  your  earth  ! " 

So  the  dramatic  master  told  him  to  go 
down  to  the  shore,  put  a  fair  size  stone  in 
his  mouth  and  practice  intoning  the  roaring 
of  the  waves,  and  all  the  murmurings  and 
mumblings  of  the  waters. 

But  as  there  was  no  shore  anywhere  near 
Willie's  home,  he  hied  himself  to  the  river 
and  there  endeavoured  to  follow  out  the 
master's  instructions,  with  the  result  that  he 
soon  decided  that  the  laurels  of  the  stage 
were  not  for  him. 

Willie  lived  a  life  of  death — suspended 
animation  they  call  it — for  the  next  few 
days.  All  his  hopes  were  shattered,  all  his 
ideals  were  cast  to  the  muddy  street,  the 
starry  firmament  dissolved  into  a  Milky 
Way,  and  sour  milk  at  that.  He  thought  of 
everything  but  suicide,  but  eventually  re- 
signed himself  to  an  eternal  repetition  of 
"  Goo'-mornin,'  madam,"  etc. 

Then  the  hand  of  fate  intervened.  So 
long  turned  against  John  Willie,  it  now 
reversed  to  stroke  his  face  gently  and 

It  happened  that  he  was  sent  one  morning 
down  to  Shrimpswing  Street,  near  the  fish 
and  fruit  market,  on  an  errand  for  the  firm. 
Round  a  stall  at  the  corner  of  the  square  a 
great  crowd  was  bandying  a  red-faced 
woman  who  stood  determined  behind  a  pile 



of  wonderful  white-heart  cherries. 

The  saleswoman,  however,  did  not  appear 
particularly  eager  on  sales.  She  stood,  arms 
akimbo,  shouting,  Nar  then,  whatcher  all 
scranging  round  fer,  block'eads  1 "  and  "  If 
yer  don't  'old  back  a  bit  I'll  swipe  some  on 

Willie  was  very  astounded  at  this  pro- 
cedure on  the  part  of  the  person  who 
depended  on  the  desires  of  the  passers  by 
for  her  existence.  He  went  in  to  have  a 
closer  look — at  the  cherries — when  a  thun- 
derous voice  roared  near  his  right  ear,  "  Hi, 
make  way;  let  him  in.     This  is  a  good  type!" 

Willie  was  about  to  turn  and  expostulate 
with  the  owner  of  the  roar  when  the  sales- 
woman asked  his  requirements.  The  cherries 
were  interesting.  Willie  inquired  the  price. 
Sixpence  a  pund,"  was  the  reply. 

"  My,  that's  dear,  ain't  it  1 " 

"  Orl  right  then,  we'll  give  um  ter  yer  ; 
'ere  y'r,  I  don't  think." 

"A'right,  hold  yer  wool  on,  missus,"  said 
Willie;  '  give  me  a  penn'orth,  and  don't  try 
to  push  those  behind  on  me — I  know  yer 
game ;  give  me  some  from  the  good'uns  here 
in  front." 

This  brought  forward   an    expression  of 

goodwill  from  the  lady,  who  called  Willie  a 
pet  name,  something  like  "red-headed 
pocket-pickin'  monkey's  brother,"  and  at  the 
same  moment,  a  burly  and  beery  individual, 
presumably  the  husband,  rolled  across  and 
made  friendly  advances,  first  knocking 
Willie's  hat  off — not  missing  his  head. 

And  so  Willie  came  to  the  fulfilment  of 
his  desires.  It  was  a  film  scene  played  in 
the  market  in  which  various  types  were 
required,  and  Willie  was  a  revelation. 
Later,  the  film  company,  whenever  they  had 
similar  scenes  to  take,  employed  Willie  often. 
His  activities  were  very  strenuous,  insomuch 
that  he  never  received  less  than  a  dozen 
punches  in  the  head  every  week,  was  smitten 
to  earth  half-a-dozen  times,  three  times 
thrown  into  the  water,  besides  being 
swamped  with  whitewash,  slung  into  rubbish 
heaps,  etc.,  etc. 

But  what  did  this  matter  when  he  had 
achieved  all  that  he  aspired  to — to  be  an 
artiste,  a  film  actor,  a  dramatic  hero  ! 

This  activity,  however,  did  not  coincide 
with    Messrs.    Twillings,  and  Willie   found 
himself   with    the  much  promised      sack. 
Did  this  worry  him  *?  —not  a  bit.     Had  he 
not  become  an  actor  ? 

T7ARLE  WILLIAMS,  whose  portrait  appeared 
-*-'  in  our  supplement  of  March  last,  was  born 
in  Sacramento,  California,  on  the  28th  of 
Febtuary,  1880.  Agustus  P.  Williams,  his  father, 
was  one  of  the  early  settlers  of  California,  having 
first  lived  in  Boonville,  Mo.  His  mother  was 
Eva  M.  Paget,  of  the  family  of  that  name  from 
Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

James  Paget,  the  famous  actor  of  an  earlier 
generation,  was  the  uncle  of  Earle  Williams  and 
tho  only  member  of  the  family  who  ever 
entered  the  theatrical  profession.  When  Earle 
was  a  boy  at  college  his  uncle  was  always 
advising  him  never  to  go  on  the  stage. 

But  in  spite  of  all  that  his  uncle  said,  he  in 
after  years  started  in  that  profession.  He  re- 
ceived his  education  at  the  Oakland  Public 
Grammar  and  High  Schools,  afterwards  he  at- 
tended the  Polytechnic  College  of  California,  but 
left  before  he  obtained  his  degree. 

His  first  situation  was  as  office  boy,  which 
position  he  filled  during  the  time  between  school 
and  college. 

In  1901,  he  obtained  his  first  theatrical  engage- 
ment as  utility  man  with  the  Baldwin-Melville 
Stock  Company  in  New  Orleans. 

Among  his  engag'^ments  on  the  legitimate 
stage  were  "The  Man  on  the  Box  "  and  "The 
Chorus  Lady,"  in  which  he  played  heavy  parts 
with  Henry  Dixie  and  Rose  Stahl  respectively. 
In  Mary  Mannering's  "Glorious  Betsy"  and 
"  The  Third  Degree,"  he  played  juvenile.  He 
played  his  last  theatrical  engagement  with 
George  Beban  in  "The  Sign  of  the  Rose"  in 
vaudeville.  During  the  summer  of  1911  he  went 
down  to  the  Vitagraph  Company  to  get  a  summer 
engagement,  and  has  stayed  there  ever  since. 

His  splendid  stock  training  and  possessing 
ideal  qualifications  for  a  motion  picture  actor  he 
soon  held  an  enviable  position  in  the  motion 
picture  world.  In  the  following  pictures  he  has 
gained  great  successes:  "  The  Christian,"  "Love's 
Sunset,"  "Vengeance  of  Durand,"  "Memories 
that  Haunt,"  "  Lovesick  Maidens  of  Cuddleton," 
"The  Dawning,"  "The  Red  Barrier,"  "Two 
Women  and  Two  Men,"  "  The  Bond  of  Music," 
"The  Test  of  Friendship,"  and  "The  Thumb 

He  likes  a  good  heavj'  part  or  a  strong  dramatic 
lead  best,  such  as  Carl  in  "The  Vengeance  of 

His  hobbies  are  motor-boating  and  photo- 
graphy. He  reads  a  good  deal,  mostly  old 
classics  and  strong  playwrights. 

The  Adventures  of 
Miss  Tomboy, 

OR,     LOVE,     LUCK    AND     GASOLENE. 

From  the  VITAGBAPH  Photoplay.      Adapted  by  James  Cooper. 

The  further  pranks  of  Miss  Tomboy,  aided  by  her  clever 

fiance    only    serve  to  aggravate  the  already  exasperated 

Bunny,    whose    resourcefulness  is   wonderful,  and   yet   he 

concedes  to  the  lucky  pair. 

Miss  Tomboy     ... 
Her  Father 
Cutey  ... 
Van  Alstyne 
The  Commodore 





UTEY'S  hopes  of  softening  Mr. 
Bunny  and  inducing  him  to 
regard  him  as  a  prospective 
son-in-law  sank  below  zero. 
He  had  built  very  much  upon 
the  successful  result  of  the 
yacht  race,  supposing  that  the  winning  of 
the  Club  Cup  would  have  put  Mr.  Bunny  in 
such  good  humour  that  he  would  have  been 
unable  to  refuse  his  daughter  anything.  He 
soon  found  out  his  mistake.  Mr.  Bunny, 
when  he  reflected  that  it  was  to  his  rebellious, 
madcap  daughter  he  owed  the  success  of  his 
yacht,  almost  brought  himself  to  the  point 
of  wishing  that  he  had  never  bought  the 
vessel  at  all.  Cutey  had  confidently  expected 
forgiveness  for  Miss  Tomboy  and  indulgence 
for  himself  ;  instead  of  which  Mr.  Bunny 
was  furiously  angry  with  his  daughter  and 
had  nothing  but  abuse  for  poor  Cutey,  who, 
he  was  convinced,  had  persuaded  her  into 
the  escapade.  On  the  pier,  after  the  yacht 
race,  he  had  been  positively  rude;  and  but 
for  the  fact  that  he  was  Miss  Tomboy's 
father,  Cutey  would  have  found  it  impossible 
to  keep  his  temper.  As  it  was  he  pocketed 
the  humiliation,  and  was  more  than  ever 
determined  to  marry  Miss  Tomboy,  whether 
her  father  liked  it  or  not. 

Cutey,  as  has  been  said,  was  a  lad  of 
resource  and  not  easily  cast  down.  He  knew 
quite  well  that  love  laughs  at  many  other 
things  besides  locksmiths,  including  angry 
fathers,  and  he  soon  shook  off  his  depression. 

A  talk  with  his  friend,  the  Commodore  of  the 
Yacht  Club,  contributed  largely  to  raise  his 
spirits.  The  Commodore  had  been  the 
confidant  of  many  love-lorn  youths  in  his 
time  and  was  always  ready  with  sympathy 
and  advice. 

"Why  don't  you  elope?"  he  asked. 

"No  good,"  replied  Cutey  gloomily.  "She 
wouldn't.  Besides,  I  cannot  manage  to  get 
a  talk  with  her  now  to  try  to  persuade  her. 
The  old  man  is  always  about,  and  he  hates 
the  sight  of  me." 

The  Commodore  put  on  his  considering^ 
cap.  Presently  he  made  another  suggestion : 
Take  her  for  a  run  in  the  Paula.'  Daddy 
cannot  interrupt  your  conversation  there, 
and  perhaps  you'll  be  able  to  fix  things  all 

That's  a  good  idea,"  Cutey  agreed ;. 
adding  doubtfully,  '  if  it  can  only  be 

Have  a  try,"  said  the  Commodore.  No 
place  like  a  yacht  for  courting.  Why,  in  my 
young  days — however,  that's  another  story. 
Well,  here's  luck." 

It  may  have  been  in  consequence  of  the 
Commodore's  good  wishes,  but  whether  it 
was  or  not,  luck  certainly  did  favour  Cutey. 
Next  day  he  called  at  Mr.  Bunny's  and 
found  that  gentleman  and  his  daughter  in 
the  garden.  Mr.  Bunny  had  succumbed  tO' 
the  heat  of  the  day.  He  was  lying  back  in 
a  garden  chair,  with  his  hat  tipped  over  his 
eyes  and  his  hands  loosely  clasped  upon  that 



Mr.  Bunny  had  hoisted  himself  into  the  passenger's  seat  and  was  holding  on  like  grim  death." 

part  of  his  anatomy    which  he  sometimes 
humorously  called  his  waist. 

Miss  Tomboy  was  eating  an  apple  with 
manifest  enjoyment.  The  sudden  appearance 
of  Cutey  caused  her  some  alarm. 

Father's  awfully  angry  with  you,"  she 

whispered,    "if  he  sees  you  here,  he'll " 

Oh,  he's  sound  asleep,"  interrupted 
Cutey,  also  in  a  whisper.  "  He'll  never 
know.  I  say,  cannot  you  come  for  a  trip  in 
the  yacht  with  me  ?  I  want  to  have  a  talk. 
We'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Oh ! "  gasped  Miss  Tomboy,  "  I'd  love 
it !  But " — with  a  doubtful  glance  at  her 
parent — '  do  you  think  he  is  really  asleep  1 " 

For  answer,  Cutey  stepped  lightly  over  to 
the  recumbent  figure  and  raised  the  hat  from 
Mr.  Bunny's  features.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  blissfully  unconscious  of  any  plot 
against  his  domestic  peace. 

Get  your  things  on,"  said  Cutey;  and 
together  they  left  Mr.  Bunny  to  his  slumbers, 
his  dutiful  daughter  turning  and  m.aking  a 
grimace  at  him  as  she  reached  the  verandah, 
which  ran  along  the  garden  front  of  the 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour  later 
that  Van  Alstyne  strolled  into  the  garden. 

He  had  hoped  to  find  Miss  Tomboy  there, 
and  his  disappointment  at  finding  only  her 
father  was  considerable.  Mr.  Bunny's 
slumber  was  profound,  and  Van  Alstyne  did 
not  disturb  him.  He  took  Miss  Tomboy's 
A^acant  chair  and  soon  fell  asleep  himself. 

Mr.  Bunny  was  the  first  to  awake.  He 
stared  at  Van  Alstyne  in  bewilderment  for 
a  minute  or  two,  wondering  how  he  had 
come  there  and  where  on  earth  that  madcap 
daughter  of  his  had  got  to.  Then  he  rose 
from  his  chair  and  went  to  arouse  his  friend. 

"Hi  !  wake  up  !  wake  up  !  Where's  that 
gill  got  to,  I  wonder  1  She  was  here  a  little 
while  ago." 

Van  Alstyne  yawned  and  stretched  himself. 
"  She  was  not  here  when  I  came,"  he  said. 

I  came  hoping  to  see  her,  but  I  found  only 
you,  and  as  you  were  asleep  I  followed  your 

"I  suppose  she's  gone  indoors.  Let's  go 
and  see." 

But  they  did  not  find  Miss  Tomboy  there, 
and  when  Mr.  Bunny  heard  from  the  servants 
that  she  had  been  seen  to  leave  the  house 
with  Cutey  he  said  things  about  that  young 
man  which  were  quite  unfit  for  publication. 

"  I  don't  like  that  young  man,"  said  Van 



Alstync  viciously.    "  He  is  a  nuisance.    Why 
do  you  allow  him  to  come  here  1 " 

"  I  don't,"  retorted  Mr.  Bunny,  "  but  he 
comes  all  the  same.  I've  told  him  if  I  catch 
him  hanging  round  here  I'll  kick  him  into 
the  street,  and — and  he  laughs  at  me." 

You  should  not  have  gone  to  sleep,"  said 
Van  Alstyne. 

Mr.  Bunny  fumed.  "  I've  had  enough  of 
it,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  be  laughed  at  by  my 
own  daughter.  She  shall  marry  you  as  soon 
as  we  can  fix  things.    I'm  determined  she  shall. " 

'  Good,"  was  the  reply.  '  I  am  quite 
agreeable.  Only  where  is  she  1  She  may  have 

"Damnit!  Soshemay."  The  idea  startled 
Mr.  Bunny.  "  We  must  find  them,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  they've  gone  yachting  or  something. " 

Somewhere  about  this  time  Miss  Tomboy 
and  Cutey  were  arriving  at  an  understanding 
on  board  the  "Paula."  Miss  Tomboy  had  de- 
clared to  Cutey  that  she  would  never  marry 
anybody  but  him,  and  that  forty  fathers  should 
not  make  her  change  her  mind.  As  for  Van 
Alstyne,  she  said  she  hated  the  sight  of  him. 

Cutey  slipped  a  ring  on  the  third  finger  of 
her  left  hand. 

"  My  !  What  a  beauty ! "  she  cried.  Then 
we — we  are  engaged  1 " 

I  guess  we  are, '  said  CuLey.      Now  kiss 

"  I  wonder  what  father  will  say,"  ventured 
Miss  Tomboy  several  minutes  later.  Cutey, 
who  was  w^ondering  too,  did  not  reply. 

When  Cutey  had  seen  the  yacht  safely 
moored  he  and  Miss  Tomboy  prepared  to  face 
the  music.  Landing  at  the  pier  from  the 
dinghy  they  met  Mr.  Bunny  and  Van  Alstyne 
at  the  top  of  the  steps. 

The  irate  parent  ignored  Cutey  and  turned 
angrily  upon  his  daughter.  "  What  does  this 
mean  1  "  he  cried.  ''  How  dare  you  behave 
in  this  disgraceful  way  1 " 

Miss  Tomboy  actually  laughed  !  "It's  all 
right,"  she  said,  '  we're  engaged ! "  and  she 
held  out  her  hand  so  that  her  father  could 
see  the  ring. 

"  What  the  devil  !  "  Mr.  Bunny  exploded, 
his  face  purple  with  rage.  "  Engaged  !  Of  all 
the  impudence  !  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  to 
me.  You'll  go  along  home  at  once,  and  Mr. 
Van  Alstyne  shall  go  with  you."  Then, 
aside  to  Van  Alstyne  he  said,  "  For  goodness 
sake,  take  her  away  and  pop  the  question  at 

If  ever  Cutey  felt  inclined  to  kick  his  rival 
it  was  then,  as  Van  Alstyne  walked  away 

with  the  reluctant  Miss  Tomboy,  bestowing 
upon  Cutey  a  supercilious  smile. 

"  You  wait ! "  muttered  Cutey  to  himself. 
"  You  wait  !  " 

Van  Alstyne's  triumph  was  short-lived  It 
is  difficult  to  make  a  proposal  of  marriage 
when  everything  you  say  is  turned  into 
ridicule,  when  the  girl  will  not  even  let  you 
hold  her  hand,  and  asks  commiseratingly  if 
you  are  in  pain  when  you  are  trying  to  put 
into  words  the  tenderest  sentiments.  Van 
Alstyne's  suit  did  not  prosper,  and,  to  crown 
all.  Miss  Tomboy  insisted  upon  spoiling  their 
tete-a-tete  by  adding  to  the  party  two  girl 
friends  who  happened  to  come  along. 

At  last,  in  sheer  despair,  Van  Alstyne  left 
them  and  went  to  tell  his  troubles  to  Mr. 
Bunny.  Together  they  decided  that  this 
business  had  got  to  be  settled  right  away. 

"  I'll  see,"  said  Mr.  Bunny,  with  immense 
decision,  "if  I'm  to  be  flouted  like  this  by  a 
bit  of  a  girl  !     I'll  show  her  who's  master." 

Presently  Miss  Tomboy  appeared,  saucy 
and  cheerful  as  ever,  greeting  her  father  and 
Van  Alstyne  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

Mr.  Bunny  adopted  new  tactics.  Instead 
of  flying  into  a  rage  with  her,  he  kept  him- 
self well  under  control,  and  curtly  announced 
his  decision. 

"  You  shall  marry  Mr.  Van  Alstyne 

Miss  Tomboy  looked  at  her  father  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  burst  out  laughing. 
"  Don't  talk  so  silly,  father,"  she  said.  "  You 
forget  I'm  engaged  to  Cutey." 

Mr.  Bunny  kept  a  firm  hold  upon  himself. 
"  You  can't  be  engaged  without  my  consent. 
I  say  you  shall  marry  Van  Alstyne  to-day. 
You'd  better  go  and  make]  your  preparations. 
We  shall  expect  you  at  three  o'clock." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Tomboy,  coolly.  "  I 
shan't  be  ready  by  that  time,  nor  in  a  year, 
nor  a  century.  I'm  going  to  marry  Cutey, 
and  you  may  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to 
it.  As  for  marrying  Mr.  Van  Alstyne,  I'd 
rather  be  an  old  maid  and  keep  cats  for  ever 
and  ever.  There  !  "  She  threw  up  her 
head  defiantly,  and  walked  away. 

"  I  don't  believe  she  likes  me,"  remarked 
Van  Alstyne,  plaintively. 

"  Oh,  she'll  come  round,"  was  Mr.  Bunny's 
reply.  "  You  don't  understand  women. 
Firmness  is  what  they  need — firmness." 

But  Van  Alstyne  still  seemed  dubious. 

Miss  Tomboy  realised  that  her  father  was 
in  earnest  this  time.  Matters  had  come  to 
a  crisis,  and  it  was  time  to  put  into  operation 



a  little  scheme  which  had  been  discussed 
between  her  and  Cutey,  to  meet  just  such  an 
emergency  as  this.     She  scribbled  a  note  : 
"  Cutey,  dear, 

"  Father  has  put  his  foot  down.  He 
says  I'm  to  marry  Van  Alstyne  to-day. 
But  I  want  to  marry  you.  I  shall  be 
on  the  pier  in  an  hour.  Have  every- 
thing ready,  and  we'll  go  to  Newport 
in  the  'Paula,'  and  be  married  at  once. 
Yours  always, 

"  Tomboy." 

She  sent  the  note  to  the  Yacht  Club  by 
her  own  maid,  who  was  in  her  confidence, 
and  entirely  sympathetic. 

Cutey,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  told 
his  friend  the  Commodore  what  was  afoot. 

"  Good  lad,"  said  the  Commodore.  "  By 
gad  !  It  makes  me  feel  young  again.  Off 
with  you.  Let  me  know  if  I  can  help  at  all. 
Can  I  run  you  to  Newport  in  the  motor 
boat?  She  can  do  forty  an  hour  or  so. 
That  would  be  something  like  an  elopement 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Cutey.  "The  'Paula' 
will  do  us  very  nicely.  It's  awfully  good  of 
you  though." 

"  Righto !  Lord  !  I'd  give  something  to 
see  old  Bunny's  face  when  he  knows  you're 
married."     The  Commodore  chuckled. 

Cutey  hurried  away  to  get  things  ready, 
and  he  was  waiting  at  the  pier  steps  with 
the  dinghy  when  Miss  Tomboy  appeared, 
breathless  with  running.  In  five  minutes 
they  were  on  board  the  yacht,  and  in  five 
more  they  were  under  way. 

Miss  Tomboy  believed  she  had  got  away 
from  her  father's  house  unobserved.  In 
this,  however,  she  was  mistaken.  Van 
Alstyne,  mooning  around  the  house,  had 
seen  her  slip  out  of  the  garden  gate  and 
hurry  away  down  the  road.  His  firdt 
impulse  was  to  run  and  overtake  her,  but 
he  was  doubtful  as  to  the  reception  he  might 
get.  Then  he  thought  of  informing  Mr. 
Bunny  but  reflected  that  that  would  mean 
losing  sight  of  the  girl.  He  decided  to 
follow  her. 

She  led  him  along  at  a  good  rate,  and  he 
soon  saw  that  she  was  heading  for  the  pier. 
From  a  safe  distance  he  watched  the  meeting 
between  her  and  Cutey,  and  saw  them  get 
into  the  dinghy,  which  at  once  pulled  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  yacht.  He  cursed 
himself  for  his  stupidity  in  not  having 
stopped  her  as  she  left  the  house.  There 
was  only  one  thing  to  be  done  now.      He 

hurried  off  to  tell  Mr.  Bunny  what  he  had 
seen,  and  to  demand  that  that  gentleman 
should  take  action  at  once. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Bunny  was  angry  is  to 
give  an  absurdly  inadequate  idea  of  his 
feelings.  He  went  almost  frantic  with  rage, 
and  vented  some  of  it  upon  Van  Alstyne. 

"  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  stop  her  1 " 
he  demanded.  "  You  say  you  want  to 
marry  her  and  you  let  another  man  carry 
her  olF  under  your  eyes.  Of  all  the  silly 
idiots  ! " 

"  It's  no  use  going  on  in  this  fashion," 
Van  Alstyne  returned  angrily.  What's  to 
be  done  1      That's  the  question." 

"Done  !  "  cried  Mr.  Bunny.  "  Why  fetch 
'em  back,  of  course.  There's  that  steam 
yacht  of  mine,  the  'Arrow' — she's  faster 
than  the  '  Paula.'  They've  got  a  good  start, 
but  we  might  do  it  if  we're  smart." 

Mr.  Bunny  had  not  hustled  so  much  for 
years  as  he  did  during  the  next  half-hour. 
Van  Alstyne  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep 
pace  with  him  as  they  hurried  down  to  the 
pier.  Every  now  and  then  Mr.  Bunny 
broke  into  a  run,  and  he  arrived  at  the  pier 
steps  out  of  breath,  but  even  more  angry 
than  he  had  been  when  they  started.  The 
Arrow  '  was  moored  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  pier,  and  in  response  to  Mr. 
Bunny's  hail  and  frantic  waving,  a  boat  put 
off  from  the  yacht.  Very  soon  the  owner 
and  Van  Alstyne  were  upon  the  deck.  The 
skipper  met  them  with  a  salute. 

"Get  underway  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Bunny. 
"  We've  got  to  overhaul  the  '  Paula.'  " 

The  '  Paula '  !  "  said  the  skipper  wonder- 
ingly.  '  Why,  she's  been  gone  half-an-hour 
Or  more." 

"  I  don't  care  if  she's  been  gone  half  a 
day,"  replied  Mr.  Bunny,  with  asperity. 
"  You've  got  to  catch  her.  You're  faster 
than  she  is,  ain't  you  1     Very  well,  then." 

The  skipper  asked  no  questions.    He  gave 

his  orders  in  a  sharp,  sailorly  fashion,  and 

pretty  soon  the  "Arrow"  was  doing  all  she 

knew,    going  full    steam   ahead    after   the 

'  Paula." 

Cutey  and  Miss  Tomboy,  imagining  them- 
selves safe  from  pursuit,  were  already 
deciding  what  they  should  say  to  Mr.  Bunny 
when  they  returned  from  Newport  and  faced 
him  as  man  and  wife. 

"Of  course,  he'll  be  angry  at  first,"  said 
Miss  Tomboy,  '  but  he'll  soon  come  round. 
He  won't  be  able  to  unmarry  us,  anyhow, 
and  I  believe  after    a    time    he'll  come    to 



think  the  whole  affair  a  good  joke.     He  has 
a,  sense  of  humour,  Dad  has." 

'  Well,"  returned  Cutey,  "  I  hope  you  are 
right,  but  he  doesn't  seem  to  have  seen  the 
joke  so  far.  I  wonder  if  Van  Alstyne  has 
•a  sense  of  humour  too,"  he  added  viciously. 

I  owe  him  one  for  the  grin  he  gave  me 
when  he  walked  off  the  pier  with  you.  I 
don't  think  he'll  feel  like  grinning  when  we 
see  him  again." 

He's  a  beast,"  said  Miss  Tomboy  heartily, 

but  we  needn't  worry  about  him  any  more. 
Oh,  Cutey,  isn't  it  just  lovely,  running  off  to 
be  married  like  this.  Do  you  know,  I've 
-always  wanted  to  elope.  Wouldn't  it  be 
exciting  if  they  chased  us  1 " 

she  can.  We  can't  grind  another  yard  out 
of  her.     Hold  on  though  ;  I've  got  an  idea." 

He  dashed  along  the  deck  and  disappeared 
into  the  wireless  cabin.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  returned,  full  of  excitement. 

'"  We'll  beat  them  yet,"  he  cried.  "  I've 
sent  a  wireless  to  the  Commodore,  asking 
him  to  get  to  us  in  his  motor  boat." 

"  But  can  he  do  it  1 "  asked  Miss  Tomboy. 

Won't  the  '  Paula '  reach  us  first  1 " 

"  Not  if  the  Commodore  gets  the  message 
promptly.  His  boat  can  fly,  simply  fly.  We 
shall  be  at  Newport  and  married  before  the 
'Arrow'  can  get  anywhere  near  the  place." 

Meanwhile  the  "Arrow"  was  making  good 
progress,  and  Mr,  Bunny  and  Van  Alstyne 

"Just  before  they  started  they  had  seen  an  aeroplane  rise  in  the  air." 

Cutey  was  gazing  astern.  "  By  gad,"  he 
said  suddenly,  "  that's  just  what  they  are 
doing,  I  believe."  He  snatched  up  the 
binoculars  and  gazed  earnestly  at  a  steamer 
far  behind  them.  Cutey  dropped  the  glasses 
with  a  gesture  of  despair.  '  It's  your  father's 
yacht,  the  Arrow,'  coming  along  like  the 
very  deuce  i  She'll  overhaul  us  long  before 
we  can  get  to  Newport." 

"  But  surely."  urged  Miss  Tomboy,  in  great 
agitation,  we  can  do  something.  Can't  you 
tell  the  skipper  to  put  on  more  sail  or 
something  1 " 

Cutey  shook  his  head.     "  She's  doing  all 

counted  on  a  speedy  end  to  the  chase.  The 
'Arrow"  was  within  a  mile  or  so  of  the 
"  Paula  "  when  a  motor  boat  flew  past  them. 
She  cut  through  the  water  at  such  a  rate 
that  she  seemed  to  leave  the  yacht  standing 

"  By  jove  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bunny,  "  that 
chap  is  moving.  Wonder  where  he's  off  to  ? 
Hullo  !  what's  wrong  with  the  '  Paula  ?  " 

Mr.  Bunny  might  well  ask  that  question, 
for  the  "Paula"  had  ccme  almost  to  a 
standstill.  As  he  and  Van  Alstyne  gazed 
through  their  glasses,  they  saw  the  motor 
boat  run  alongside  the  yacht.     Two  figures. 



a  man  and  a  girl,  descended  a  ladder  over 
the  "  Paula's  "  side,  and  get  into  the  motor 
boat,  which  immediately  started  off  again  at 
full  speed. 

Mr.  Bunny  swore,  and  Van  Alstyne  joined 
him  with  much  heartiness.  But  Miss 
Tomboy's  father  was  not  beaten  yet.  The 
^' Arrow"  carried  a  motor  boat  too,  and  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  was  over 
the  side,  and  with  Bunny  and  Van  Alstyne 
aboard  was  doing  its  best  to  overhaul  the 
Commodore's  flier.  They  soon  saw,  however, 
that  they  stood  no  chance  whatever.  It  was 
then  that  Mr.  Bunny  astonished  his  friend. 

"We'll  get  an  aeroplane,"  he  said,  "and 
catch  'em  that  way." 

"A  what !  "  gasped  Van  Alstyne. 

"An  aeroplane.  A  friend  of  mine  close 
l)y  here  has  two  or  three.  He'll  get  us  to 
Newport  in  no  time,  and  we'll  be  able  to 
stop  their  little  game." 

'  I'm  not  coming,"  said  Van  Alstyne 
decidedly.  "  I'll  go  back  to  town  and  wait 
for  you." 

"Afraid?"  sniffed  Mr.  Bunny  con- 
temptuously.       Faint  heart  never  won  fair 

lady,   you  know.      Still,   if  you  won't 

Well,  here  we  are." 

He  had  steered  the  boat  inshore  and  now 
ran  her  alongside  a  little  pier.  They 
scrambled  out  and  by  good  luck  found  a 
motor  car  waiting  at  the  entrance.  Mr. 
Bunny  struck  a  bargain  with  the  chauffeur 
to  drive  them  to  his  friend's  place,  half  a 
mile  away.  He  found  the  aviator  quite 
ready  for  an  adventure,  and  very  soon  Mr. 
Bunny  had  hoisted  himself  into  the 
passenger's  seat  and  was  holding  on  like 
grim  death.  The  airman  started  the  engine, 
the  machine  ran  along  the  ground  for  a  few 
score  yards  and  then  rose  in  the  air. 

In  the  Commodore's  motor  boat  they  had 
not  been  asleep.  They  had  seen  the  other 
motor  boat  start  away  from  the  "Arrow" 
and  had  seen  it  make  for  the  shore.  It  was 
Miss  Tomboy's  quick  wit  that  divined  the 
reason  for  this. 

'I  do  believe,"  she  said  in  amazement, 

father  is  going  to  get  an  aeroplane.     Mr. 

Thomson's   place  is   somewhere  there,  and 

he's  always  asking  father  to  take  a  trip  with 

him.     Now  he's  going  to  do  it." 

'Oh,  well,"  said  the  Commodore,  "if  he's 
going  to  fly  after  us,  we  might  as  well  go  back 
home.     We  don't  stand  an  earthly." 

Cutey  chimed  in.  Don't  you  believe  it. 
We'll  fly  too      A  friend  of  mine  at  Oyster 

Bay  has  one  of  those  flying  boats,  a  hydro- 
plane, or  whatever  you  call  it.  Why,  there 
it  is  now,  on  the  slip-way,  ready  to  start." 

That's    a    bit    of   luck,"    remarked    the 
Commodore,    '  if  only  your  friend  is  there." 

He  was  They  hailed,  and  Cutey's  friend 
hurried  to  the  water's  edge,  listened  to  their 
tale  and  entered  into  the  game  with 
enthusiasm.  He  could  carry  two  passengers 
with  ease,  he  said,  and  Cutey  and  Miss 
Tomboy  were  in  their  places  before  you 
could  say  "  knife."  The  seaplane  skimmed 
along  the  surface  of  the  water  and  presently 
rose  gracefully,  cleaving  the  air  like  an 
enormous  seabird,  and  Miss  Tomboy  gave 
a  little  gasp  of  delight.  She  was  sure  no 
girl  had  ever  had  so  exciting  an  elopement. 

Just  before  they  started  they  had  seen  an 
aeroplane  rise  into  the  air  over  the  land. 
When  they  were  fairly  on  the  way  Cutey 
looked  back.  The  aeroplane  was  now  fairly 
near  them,  and  Cutey  thought  he  could 
make  out  Mr.  Bunny's  figure  in  the 
passenger's  seat.  The  old  man  had  some 
pluck,  anyhow,  he  thought. 

Mr.  Bunny  saw  them,  too.  For  a  moment 
he  forgot  where  he  was,  forgot  that  he  was 
suspended  precariously  between  the  sky  and 
the  water.  He  leaned  forward,  let  go  his 
hold  upon  the  supporting  uprights  and  shook 
his  fist  furiously  at  the  seaplane.  As  he  did 
so  he  ov^erbalanced  and  pitched,  head  fore- 
most, out  of  the  machine. 

Cutey  gave  a  cry  of  horror.  Stop  !  "  he 
shouted.  "  Farman,  stop  !  He'o  fallen  out ! 
Good  God  !  he'll  be  drowned  ! " 

"Who"?  What  on  earth's  the  matter V 
said  Farman.     "  What's  all  the  row  about?" 

"Mr.  Bunny — Tomboy's  father — just 
pitched  head  first  out  of  that  aeroplane.  For 
heaven's  sake,  let's  go  down  and  pick  him 
up.     There  he  is — hooray  !  " 

Cutey's  relief  was  so  great  that  he  waved 
his  hat  and  cheered  like  a  schoolboy.  Mr. 
Bunny  was  fortunately  able  to  swim,  and 
though  when  they  descended  on  the  water 
close  by  him  he  was  puffing  and  grunting 
like  some  asthmatical  sea  monster,  he  was 
really  little  the  worse  for  his  startling 
experience.  He  clambered  with  some  difficulty 
on  to  one  of  the  floats  of  the  seaplane,  and 
was  thus  conveyed  to  terra  fir  ma. 

What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  Would  Mr. 
Bunny  do  the  graceful  thing  and  give  the 
runaway  pair  his  blessing  ?  Or  would  he 
insist  upon  Miss  Tomboy's  going  home  at 
once.      He    seemed    to   be   in    some   doubt 




himself  as  to  the  best  course  to  adopt. 
Perhaps  he  realised  that  he  cut  rather  an 
undignified  figure  in  his  dripping  clothes. 

Miss  Tomboy  made  the  first  advance. 
'  Why,  daddy,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  you're 
wet !  " 

It  was  not  a  particularly  tactful  speech 
under  the  circumstances,  and  it  made  Mr. 
Bunny  angry — so  angi'y  that  he  ordered  her 
to  leave  Cutey  at  once  and  come  home  with 
him.  But  that  was  not  at  all  to  Miss 
Tomboy's  mind,  and  she  tried  other  tactics. 
Presently  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
a  smile  dawn  and  spread  all  over  his 
expansive  countenance.  Still  he  refused  to 
relent,  until  Miss  Tomboy  saw  Van  Alstyne 

hurrying  towards  them  in  a  motor-car.' 

"  Here  comes  that  horrid  man  again,"  she 
cried.  "  I  won't  marry  him — I  won't,  so 
there  I " 

Ml'.  Bunny  gave  in  then.  "  VVell,"  he 
said,  if  you  won't,  you  won't,  I  suppose. 
You'd  better  go  on  and  finish  yiur  pro- 
gramme. Take  care  of  her,  Cutey,  my  boy. 
You'll  find  me  at  home  when  you  come  back. 
Off  you  go  !  " 

And  Mr  Bunny  himself  lent  a  hand  to 
push  off"  the  seaplane  and  watched  it  rise 
into  the  air.  Then  he  turned  to  Van  Alstyne 
and  burst  out  laughing.  Alstyne,  hoAvever, 
quite  failed  to  see  the  joke.  He  had  no 
sense  of  humour. 

[The  End]. 

"  "l^fOW   I'll    show   'em   some   fine   pictures," 
■*■  ^      said  a  British   soldier  in  France  as  he 
started  operating  a  machine  gun  with 
the  coolness  of  a  cinematograph  operator. 

TT   was  in  a   Scottish   picture-house,    and  two 
-*-     men  were  agreeably  surprised  to  find  a  cup 
of  tea  and  a  biscuit  given  them  free  bj'  the 
management  at  four  o'clock. 

Half-an-hour  later  one  of  them  broke  the 
silence.  "We've  seen  a'  the  pictures  now, 
John,"  he  said,  "  we  may  as  well  go  out." 

To  which  John,  after  a  minute's  thought, 
replied,  "You  can  go  if  you  want  to.  A'm 
stayin'  to  dinner." 

— Idealetter. 

Tl  OBERT  CONNESS  comes  from  a  family 
-*•*■  long  known  in  the  annals  of  the  American 
stage,  his  stage  connection  having  been  with 
the  Frohmans  in  "  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda," 
"Colonial  Girl"  and  "The  Bachelor's  Baby," 
and  has  starred  with  Mary  Mannering,  Blanche 
Walsh  and  Hedwig  Richer. 

Mr.  Conness  made  his  first  appearance  before 
the  camera  in  the  Edison  studio  about  five  years 
ago,  and  will  long  live  in  the  minds  of  the  motion- 
picture  public  for  the  excellent  dramatic  tech- 
nique displayed  in  such  Edison  films  as  "His 
Daughter,"  "Children  Who  Labour,"  "Church 
and  Country,"  and  "  Van  Bibber's  Experiment." 
Having  been  engaged  in  a  large  theatrical  pro- 
duction Mr.  Conness  was  compelled  to  forsake 
his  screen  delineations  for  a  brief  period.  He 
lias  returned  to  the  Edison  Company,  and  will 
again  bring  gladness  to  the  hearts  of  his 
admirers  by  displaying  the  versatilities  and 
dramatic  accomjilishments  for  which  he  is  famed. 

'TT^HEY  were  producing  the  court  scene  in  a 

-*■     big    picture.       The    player   who    took   the 

role  of  the  prosecuting  attorney  was  fiercely 

cross-examining    one    of    the    witnesses  for    the 

defence . 

"  Repeat  the  words  the  prisoner  used,"  he 
thundered,  pointing  his  finger  at  the  trembling 

"  I-I'd  rather  not,"  said  this  individual, 
timidly,  "they  were  hardly  fit  words  for  a 
gentleman's  ear." 

"Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  lawyer,  "then  whisper 
them  to  the  judge." 

"p  UTH  HENNESSY,  ingenue  lead  with  the 
-*-*-  Essanay  Company,  is  a  good  swimmer. 
She  goes  through  the  water  like  a  mermaid, 
but  a  short  time  ago  she  was  nearly  drowned 
inf enacting  a  water  scene  with  some  girls  who 
could  not  swim.  They  seized  her,  and  being 
twice  Miss  Hennessy's  size  they  weighed  her 
down  for  the  third  time.  Timely  assistance  of 
the  men  in  the  scene  saved  a  very  popular  young 
lady,  who  is  thankful  to  be  alive  to-day. 

'TT^HE   "star"  appeared    at   the   studios    one 
-*■     morning  with  her  dainty  finger  smothered 
in  bandages. 

"What  have  you  done  to  your  finger?"  several 
of  the  other  players  asked  simultaneously. 

"  Oh,  just  reckless  driving  !  " 

"  Motor?" 

"No — nail '."said  the  stai    as  she  closed  the 
door  of  her  dressing  room. 

Brewster's  Millions. 


Adapted  from  the  Photoplay  Production  of  the  JESSE  L.  LASKY 
Feature  Play  Company  by  Edna  Rose  Cox. 

EDWARD      ABELES      AS      "  MONTY      BREWSTER." 

Chapter  VII. 

^UT  luck  couldn't  keep  turning 
away  from  Monty.  Within  a 
week  of  his  coup  on  the  stock 
exchange,  which  silenced  a 
good  deal  of  the  talk  about 
him,  a  bank  in  wliich  he  had 
a  deposit  of  more  than  $100,000  failed, 
owing  to  mismanagement,  and  it  seemed 
most  unlikely  that  any  of  the  money  would 
ever  be  recovered — or,  at  most,  a  beggarly 
ten  or  fifteen  cents  on  the  dollar.  Monty 
had  money  in  other  banks,  and  he  hoped 
that  one  of  them  might  fail.  He  needed 
cheering  up  at  this  time,  for  he  had  managed 
to  offend  Barbara  Drew  by  his  plainly 
marked  objections  to  the  attentions  of  other 
men  to  her.  She  had  returned  his  Christmas 
present  to  him,  and  had  managed  to  avoid 
him.  When  he  called  she  was  not  at  home, 
and  even  Peggy,  to  whom  Monty  had  gone 
for  sympathy,  had  been  unable  to  cheer  him 

The  failure  of  one  bank  affected  others. 
There  was  no  panic,  but  people  were  uneasy, 
and  it  took  little  to  start  rumours  about 
other  institutions.  The  one  that  finally  had 
to  bear  the  heaviest  fire  was  the  Columquit 
National,  of  which  Colonel  Drew  was 
president.  It  seemed  as  stable  as  a  rock, 
but  a  run  started.  Other  bankers,  seeing  a 
chance  to  push  Drew  to  the  wall,  refused  to 
help.  And  so,  suddenly,  Monty  was  con- 
fronted with  a  crisis.  For  Colonel  Drew, 
swallowing  his  pride,  begged  his  help. 

"  Monty,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  this  run  is 
senseless.  If  you  will,  publicly,  increase 
your  deposit,  I  think  the  run  can  be  stopped." 
Monty  was  torn  between  his  desire  to 
help  Barbara's  father  and  his  fear  of 
Swearengen  Jones.  For  to  deposit  a  great 
sum  in  a  bank  that  was  on  the  verge  of 
failure  was  likely  to  seem  to  Jones  a  delib- 

erate attempt  to  evade  the  conditions  of  his 
uncle's  will.  If  the  bank  failed  and  the 
money  was  lost,  there  was  more  than 
an  even  chance  that  Jones  would  refuse  to 
hand  over  the  money  to  him.  Monty  fought 
out  his  battle  with  himself.  For  a  moment 
he  was  tempted  to  do  it,  and  let  Barbara  see 
how  she  had  wronged  him.  Then  he  stiff- 
ened his  lip. 

"  I'll  do  it.  Colonel,"  he  said.  "  But — 
Barbara  must  never  know." 

Amazed,  the  Colonel  promised  his  silence. 
Within  ten  minutes,  in  the  face  of  the 
frightened  depositors,  Monty  opened  a  bag 
and  took  from  it  great  rolls  of  bills — 
thousand-dollar  bills  encasing  much  smaller 
ones,  for  effect.  The  run  stopped  at  once. 
Such  a  proof  of  confidence  was  enough. 
The  bank  was  saved. 

It  was  to  Monty's  credit  that  he  would 
not  profit  by  the  chance  to  win  Barbara's 
love.  He  still  loved  her  :  loved  her,  despite 
her  recent  coldness,  better  than  ever.  But 
he  wanted  to  win  her,  if  win  her  he  did,  on 
his  own  merits. 

Colonel  Drew,  however,  could  not  quite 
understand  the  situation.  He  had  always 
been  fond  of  Monty  ;  Brewster's  action  in 
saving  his  bank  had  given  him  a  paternal 
feeling  toward  the  young  man.  Like  every- 
one else,  he  knew  how  Monty  was  going 
through  his  money.  But  he  felt  that,  after 
all,  Monty  was  only  sowing  his  wild  oats. 
And  when  he  learned  that  Barbara  was 
giving  a  party  to  which  Monty  had  not  been 
invited  he  was  furious.  In  his  anger  he 
forgot  his  promise  to  Monty,  and  told  her 
how  much  they  owed  him. 

At  first  Barbara  was  touched.  She  was 
ready  to  be  reconciled,  for  she  felt  that 
Monty  had  done  this  on  her  account.  Had 
he  come  to  her  then,  humble,  suing  for  a 
restoration  of  the  favour  she  had  so  caprici- 
ously withdrawn,  they  might  have  become 



engaged.  But  that  was  not  Monty's  way. 
He  knew  that  he  had  done  nothing  to  merit 
her  disfavour:  he  was  not  prepared  to  go 
down  on  his  knees  to  her.  They  met  at  a 
dinner  at  Mrs.  Dan  de  Mille's.  Mrs.  Dan 
was  still  acting  as  Monty's  social  guide  and 

"  Let's  kiss  and  make  it  up,  Babs,"  sug- 
gested Monty. 

That  wasn't  the  idea  at  all.  She  stiifened 
at  once. 

"I  don't  think  I  quite  understand,"  she 
said,  to  lead  him  on. 

"  Well — I'm  sure  I  don't ! '"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I've  done — but  I  supposed 
that  you  must  be  over  your  tiff  by  this 
time " 

And  then  Barbara  made  a  great  mistake. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  so  because  of 
what  you  did  for  my  father!  "  she  said.  "I 
suppose  that's  why  you've  waited  until  now 
to  beg  my  forgiveness " 

"  What?"  He  interrupted  her  sharply. 
"I  haven't  begged  your  forgiveness,  because 
I've  done  nothing  to  require  it !  And,  as  to 
what  I  did  for  your  father—  you  were  not 
supposed  to  know  of  that." 

Oh,  you  knew  very  well  I'd  learn  of  it!" 
she  said.     "I  must  say " 

'  Please  don't  say  anything  more,"  he 
said,  with  a  new  note  in  his  voice.  'I  think 
I  understand  your  feeling." 

Chapter  VIII. 

THAT  marked  the  beginning  of  a  new 
stage  in  Monty's  wild  year.  His 
friends  noticed  a  wilder  recklessness 
on  his  part — a  desire  to  spend  money  even 
madder  than  before.  Monty  was  fighting  to 
get  over  his  infatuation  for  Barbara.  She 
had  revealed  herself  to  him  at  Mrs.  Dan's  in 
colours  he  had  never  suspected,  and  the 
experience  embittered  him.  He  heard,  now 
that  his  ears  were  open,  many  things  that 
had  never  come  to  him  before.  He  dis- 
covered that  many  of  Barbara's  friends 
thought  that  she  had  been  holding  him  off 
on  account  of  his  extravagance;  that  she  was 
determined  not  to  commit  herself  because 
he  seemed  impelled  to  spend  his  last  cent. 

As  the  weeks  passed  Monty  began  to 
realise  more  fully  than  ever  the  difficulty  of 
spending  a  million  dollars.  And,  too,  his 
distress  over  the  trouble  with  Barbara  wore 
on  him.  His  health  began  to  be  affected. 
He  had  little  to  cheer  him.  One  loss  of 
sixty  thousand  dollars,  for  instance,  though 

it  represented  so  much  of  his  task  accom- 
plished, hurt  him.  For  Nopper  Harrison, 
his  trusted  friend,  had  been  betrayed  into 
taking  some  of  his  money.  He  had  specu- 
lated with  it,  intending  to  share  the  profits 
with  Monty — and  he  had  lost.  Manfully, 
he  confessed  what  he  had  done. 

'  It's  your  fault,  in  a  way,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  mean  to  whine  —but  have  you  any  idea 
of  the  temptation"?  You  trusted  me  abso- 
lutely— and  I've  betrayed  your  trust,  Monty. 
I've  got  to  get  out." 

Get  out  he  did,  despite  Monty's  attempts 
to  make  him  stay.  In  vain  Monty  assured 
him  that  the  money  did  not  matter;  that  he 
had  never  meant  to  do  anything  wrong. 

I'm  going  West — going  to  look  for  gold," 
said  Harrison.  "  I've  discovered  my  own 
weakness^and  I'm  going  to  try  to  straighten 
out  the  kink.  Don't  worry,  Monty.  It's  a 
good  thing  to  find  out  such  things  about 
yourself  before  it's  too  late." 

So  he  went,  with  Monty's  money,  which 
he  had  finally  been  induced  to  accept,  to 
stake  him.  Monty  felt  that  he  had  lost, 
for  the  time,  at  least,  one  of  his  truest 
friends.  And  it  was  a  time  when  he  needed 
all  his  real  friends,  for  his  acquaintances 
were  beginning  to  despise  him.  They  fore- 
saw a  time  when  he  would  be  poor,  and  they 
all  wanted,  when  the  day  came,  to  be  able 
to  say,    '  I  told  you  so  !  " 

Monty  played  ducks  and  drakes  with  his 
health — and  paid  the  price,  at  last.  Just 
before  the  date  of  a  gorgeous  and  wildly 
expensive  ball,  for  which,  among  other 
things,  a  Viennese  orchestra  had  been  im- 
ported, he  broke  down  completely.  For  a 
month  he  was  fiat  on  his  back,  saving  money, 
which  even  the  charges  for  an  operation  for 
appendicitis  did  little  to  offset.  And  when, 
after  a  luxurious  convalescence  in  Florida, 
he  was  able  to  begin  really  spending  money 
again,  summer  was  almost  at  hand. 

''  I  need  a  yachting  cruise  to  set  me  on 
my  feet,"  he  told  his  friends.  And  so  he 
chartered,  at  enormous  expense,  the  Flitter, 
the  finest  steam  yacht  available,  and  invited 
a  party  to  sail  the  seas  with  him.  He  plan- 
ned to  be  gone  until  August — to  leave  him- 
self about  a  month  in  which  to  clean  up  the 
spending  of  his  million.  On  September  23 
he  had  to  make  his  report,  and  to  be  penni- 

Mrs.  Dan  de  Mille  and  Mrs.  Valentine, 
the  wife  of  one  of  his  oldest  friends,  were  to 
chaperon  his  party.     Peggy  Gray  was  to  be 



"  '  I've  stood  enough  of  your  interference,'  he  shouted.      '  Keep  off  ! '  " 

a  guest,  though  he  had  been  unable  to  induce 
her  mother  to  come.  Joe  Bragdon,  Reggie 
Vanderpool,  Dr.  Lotless,  who  had  seen  him 
through  his  iUness,  and  his  sister,  Isabel, 
Dan  de  Mille  him.self,  to  the  universal  sur- 
jirise  (since  he  and  his  wife  were  supposed 
to  be  on  terms  of  formal  acquaintanceship 
only,  and  there  had  been  rumours  of  a 
friendly  divorce),  Paul  Pettingill,  Subway 
Smith,  and  one  or  two  others,  made  up  the 
party.  These,  Monty  knew  now,  were  his 
real  friends.  He  was  beginning  to  get  over 
his  love  for  Barbara  Drew.  Things  he  heard 
before  he  sailed  helped.  She  had  said  that 
no  girl  would  be  safe  in  marrying  him  ;  that 
he  was  just  throwing  his  money  away.  And 
Barbara,  plainly,  had  a  very  high  regard  for 

Chapter  IX. 

ON  the  Flitter,  as  she  ploughed  steadily 
eastward,      everyone      was    happy. 
Monty,    to  his  surprise,  found  that 
Dan  de  Mille,  whom  everyone  accepted  as  a 
cipher  attached  to  his  brilliant  wife,  was  a 
most  likeable  chap. 

Oh,  no  one  ever  sees  that  I'm  crazy 
about  Dan,"  said  his  wife.  "  I  jump  around 
a  lot,  and  I  keep  on  the  go — but  I  always 
come  back  to  him — and  he's  always  there, 
waiting  for  me.  He's  quiet — I'm  lively. 
But  he's  the  best  fellow  that  ever  lived." 
"  I  believe  you,"  said  Monty,  heartily. 
I'm  awfully  glad,  Mrs.  Dan.     Do  you  know 

— I've  always  liked  you,  of  course,  but  now 
I  like  you  better  than  ever  !  " 

■'  That's  a  real  compliment,  Monty,"  .she 
said.  "  Do  you  know,  you're  a  rather  blind 
person.  Since  I've  been  seeing  more  of 
Peggy  Gray  I  wonder  how  you  ever  came  to 
Iiang  around  Barbara  Drew." 

He  flushed. 

"  Peggy's  a  good  sort — the  best  ever,"  he 
said.      "  She's  just  like  a  sister  to  me." 

"Oh,  is  she ■?"  asked  Mrs.  Dan,  with  a 
curious  look  and  a  smile. 

Peggy  hers' If  seemed  happier  than  she 
had  at  any  time  been  since  Monty  had 
inherited  his  million. 

"You're  more  like  the  old  Monty,"  she 
told  him,  smiling  up  at  him  as  they  leaned 
over  the  rail,  watching  the  setting  sun. 

That  brought  him  a  twinge  of  bitterness. 
He  knew  that  what  she  meant  was  that  he 
was  taking  things  quietly;  that  he  was 
spending  no  money.  And  he  could  not  tell 
her  that  the  only  reason  was  that  he  had  no 
opportunity.  But  he  did  feel  more  at  peace 
with  himself,  and  he  realised  that  his  career 
as  a  spendthrift,  despite  its  justification,  was 
having  an  insidious  eff^ect  tipon  him. 

"  If  I  kept  this  up  much  longer,"  he  told 
himself,  "it  would  have  a  pretty  bad  effect 
on  me." 

On  the  yacht  Monty  cemented  his  friend- 
ship with  many  of  the  party.  Nothing  had 
more  to  do  with  this  than  an  incident  in 
mid-ocean,  when,  at  the  ri?k  of  his  own  life, 



he  jumped  into  the  sea  and  held  up  a  sailor 
who  had  been  knocked  overboard,  until  aid 
came.  He  had  been  the  only  one  to  see  the 
man  go  over,  and  the  sailor's  gratitude  for 
Monty's  act  was  touching. 

But  the  halcyon  days  on  the  yacht  could 
not  last.  They  finally  reached  the  other 
side,  and  then  ensued  a  carnival  of  spending 
money  that  seemed  to  Peggy  a  veritable 
saturnalia.  Monty  hoped  to  rid  himself  of 
a  good  deal  of  money  at  Monte  Carlo  ;  in- 
stead, to  his  despair,  he  won  no  less  than 
forty  thousand  dollars  !  But  that  was  only 
a  temporary  set-back.  He  more  than  made 
up  for  it.  Once  Peggy  saw,  crowning  a  hill 
over  a  lake,  a  villa  of  rare  beauty. 

"  What  a  lovely  placel"  she  exclaimed. 

Monty  hited  it  for  two  weeks — at  a  cost 
of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
He  thought  of  a  motor  tour — and  hired  half- 
a-dozen  brand-new  cars  of  the  finest  make, 
in  which  he  conducted  a  pilgrimage  through 
Italy.  In  Milan  he  chartered  La  Scala, 
and,  since  it  was  not  the  opera  season,  was 
required  to  pay  a  fabulous  price  to  assemble 
a  company  for  a  performance  of  "Aida." 
And  Peggy,  though  she  enjoyed  this,  hap- 
pened to  say  that  it  was  a  pity  that,  with  so 
many  empty  seats,  the  poor  people  might 
not  have  been  admitted. 

Fine — we'll  give  them  another  perform- 
ance to-morrow  night !"  said  Monty.  And, 
despite  her  protests,  he  did  it.  But  time 
was  flying,  and  Monty  was  beginning  to  grow 
nervous  and  restless.  The  strain  was  telling 
oil  him.  He  was  never  content  to  stay  long 
in  one  place.  One  reason  was  that  a  sudden 
change  in  plans  always  meant  added  expense. 
But  the  others  could  not  know  that,  and  by 
this  time  it  was  plain  to  all  of  them  that 
the  greatest  fortune  would  soon  be  dissipated 
if  Monty  kept  up  his  pace.  They  knew  how 
much  he  had  inherited;  they  knew  also, 
approximately,  how  much  he  was  spending. 

"  That  boy's  going  broke,"  Dan  de  Mille 
told  his  wife  and  Peggy  Gray.  "  I  suppose 
it's  none  of  my  business — but  I  like  him. 
And  I've  figured  things  out.  He  won't  last 
the  year  out  at  this  rate." 

The  others  were  talking,  too.  Gradually 
a  sentiment  was  growing  up  among  Monty's 
guests  that  they  should,  whether  he  liked  it 
or  not,  save  him  from  himself.  But  he  knew 
nothing  of  this  talk,  and  he  was  in  the  best 
of  spirits  when  the  yacht  turned  towards 
Egypt.  Alexandria,  where  he  had  letters  to 
English    residents,    gave    him   a   chance  to 

entertain  lavishly  and  spend  more  money. 

But  there  he  had  a  quarrel  with  Peggy 
that  was  to  lead  to  serious  consequences. 
The  other  women  had  talked  to  Peggy.  She 
had  been  reluctant  to  speak  to  him,  and  had 
even  felt  that  it  was  disloyal  to  join  the 
discussions  about  his  extravagance.  But 
here  she  was  forced  to  speak. 

"Peggy,"  he  said,  "you've  got  to  take  me 
on  trust.  I  can't  explain  myself,  even  to 
you;  but  I  know  what  I'm  doing." 

"  Monty — nothing  can  excuse  such  wanton 
waste  !  "  she  said.  "  If  you  were  doing 
something  useful  with  your  money — if  you 
were  giving  it  to  charity  !  But  this — oh, 
it's  wicked  !  Won't  you,  if  you're  as  fond 
of  me  as  you  say  you  are,  try  to  please  me  T 

But  he  could  give  her  no  satisfaction,  of 
course,  and  she  was  hurt.  Even  the  best- 
balanced  of  us  have  moods  of  wildness  and 
recklessness.  And  such  a  mood  now  seized 
Peggy.  Monty  had  irritated  her  ;  she 
thought,  wrongly,  that  he  had  not  taken  her 
seriously.  And,  just  because  she  was  so 
sane,  so  well-balanced,  the  imp  of  perversity 
that  got  hold  of  her  soon  obtained  entire 
possession.  Though,  on  the  surface,  she  was 
the  same  old  Peggy,  she  was  really  only 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  get  even  with  Monty, 
to  worry  him  half  as  much  as  he  had 
succeeded  in   worrying  her. 

Chapter  X. 

AT  one  of  the  entertainments  ashore 
with  which  Monty's  new-found  friends 
in  Alexandria  tried  to  repay  his 
lavish  hospitality  on  the  yacht,  one  guest 
stood  out  among  all  the  others.  This  was 
an  Arabian  Sheik,  Mohammed  by  name,  and 
a  very  great  man  indeed  in  his  own  part  of 
the  world.  He  wielded  tremendous  influ- 
ence, and  though  Monty  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  heard  that  his  character  was  far  from 
being  spotless,  they  were  also  told  that  he  was 
practically  immune  from  any  punishment. 

'  Of  course,  if  he  jolly  well  went  too 
bloomin'  far,  he'd  get  scragged,"  one  of  the 
Englishmen  explained.  "  But  they  give 
him  a  pretty  long  rope — because  governin' 
a  country  like  this  means  usin'  the  bally 
natives,  you  know.  And  it  isn't  like  a 
British  colony,  Egypt  isn't.  It's  Turkish 
territory,  really — and  we  rule  through  the 
Khedive.  So  don't  offend  this  black 
bounder — because  he's  really  a  howling  swell, 
accordin'  to  their  lights." 
Mohammed  amused  the  party  of  Americans 



greatly  ;  and,  in  return,  most  of  them 
amused  him — especially  the  idea  that  men 
let  their  wives  appear  in  public  with  their 
faces  exposed — though  he  knew  enough  of 
English  ways  to  be  used  to  this.  But  one 
member  of  the  party  didn't  amuse  him  at 
all.  That  was  Peggy.  From  the  moment 
he  first  saw  her  his  eyes  never  left  her. 

You've  made  a  hit,  Peggy,"  said  Monty. 
Our  coloured  brother  there  seems  to  think 
you're  just  about  right." 

That's  his  privilege,"  said  Peggy,  tossing 
her  head.  And  at  once  the  little  imp  of 
mischief  whispered  in  her  ear.  She  heeded 
him,  and  the  next  moment  she  shot  a 
ravishing  glance  at  Mohammed. 

I  say — don't  do  that,  Peggy,"  warned 
Monty.  He's  not  one  of  us,  you  know — 
he  may  misunderstand." 

I  can  look  after  myself,  thank  you,"  said 
Peggy,  defiantly  —  and  hunted  up  Mary 
Valentine  to  tell  her  the  joke. 

But  Peggy  had  overshot  the  mark.  For 
Mohammed  did  misunderstand.  And  within 
half-an-hour  he  contrived  matters  so  that 
Peggy  was  presented  to  him.  And  then, 
with  all  the  throng  about  her,  he  made  an 
impassioned  declaration,  and  invited  her  to 
become  his  wife  ! 

Here — I'll  answer  him,  Peggy  !  "  said 
Monty,  indignantly. 

I'll    answer    him   myself ! "     she    said. 

Oh,  noble  Sheik — it  is    not   the   custom 

among  us  to  woo  a  woman  so.     You  miist 

come   to   the   yacht — there   I    will   answer 


But  the  answer  will  be  yes  1 "  he  begged. 
"  Why   not  1 "   said    Peggy,    archly — and 

It  was  all  a  joke  to  her.  But  she  reckoned 
without  Mohammed.  He  took  her  seriously. 
And  the  next  afternoon,  to  her  dismay,  he 
actually  came  aboard  the  yacht,  with  a 
number  of  his  dusky  retainers,  and  explained 
that  he  had  come  to  take  her  home  with 

Still  she  thought  he  was  joking —  admired 
him  for  being  able  to  do  it.  But  Monty 
was  standing  beside  her.  He  saw  the  look 
in  the  Arab's  eyes,  and  placed  a  protecting 
arm  about  her.  In  a  moment  Mohammed 
stepped  forward. 

Dare  you  to  lay  a  hand  on  my  promised 
hride,  dog  of  a  Christian  ? "  he  asked,  fur- 
iously.    "Come." 

He  took  Peggy's  hand,  and  in  a  moment 
she  understood — and  drew    away  shrieking. 

"  Don't  you  dare  touch  me !  "  she  cried 

Monty — I  was  a  fool — oh " 

Monty  had  been  prepared  for  just  that. 
The  yacht's  crew  were  ready.  And  in  a 
moment  Mohammed  and  all  his  letinue 
were  being  forced  back  into  their  boats. 
Monty,  when  they  were  gone,  turned  to  see 
a  repentant  Peggy.  But  he  was  angry  now. 
He  forgot  how  much  cause  he  had  given  her 
to  be  piqued. 

"  Don't  play  with  fire  again,"  he  said, 

Only  Monty  believed  that  there  had  been 
real  danger,  however,  even  then.  But  that 
night  was  to  bring  the  others  proof  that 
they  were  wrong.  Monty,  after  a  late  party, 
was  alone  in  a  dark  part  of  the  deck.  He  was 
near  Peggy's  state-room,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 
He  was  lost  in  thought,  figuring  as  to  how 
he  stood  in  his  tilt  with  his  million.  And 
suddenly  he  felt  a  stunning  blow.  Had  it 
struck  him  full,  his  life  story  would  have 
ended  on  the  spot,  but  it  was  a  glancing 
blow,  that  left  him  half-unconscious.  Dimly, 
unable  to  move,  he  saw  dark  forms  swarming 
over  the  side — saw  them  burst  in  Peggy's 
state-room  door.  In  vain  he  tried  to  cry  out, 
but  it  was  not  until  they  had  emerged, 
carrying  a  white  figure,  that  he  was  able  to 

Then  he  did  cry  out  and  arouse  the  crew. 
But  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  the  Arabs 
from  carrying  Peggy  over  the  rail  and  into 
one  of  their  boats.  All  he  could  do  was  to 
help  Captain  Perry  to  get  boats  over,  to  call 
the  crew  and  the  passengers  out,  and  to 
start  the  searchlight.  Then  with  Captain 
Periy  directing  the  gleam  and  pointing  to 
the  boat  that  contained  Peggy  herself — the 
Arabs  had  three  boats — Monty  started  in 
pursuit,  with  Joe  Bragdon  in  the  boat  that 
he  himself  commanded. 

The  searchlight  was  the  thing  that  saved 
them.  With  its  aid  the  boat  from  the 
Flitter,  driven  by  the  trained  oarsmen  of 
the  crew,  went  three  feet  to  the  Arabs'  one, 
and  in  a  few  moments  Monty,  pistol  in  hand, 
could  see  Peggy's  white  form,  with  a  huge 
Arab  standing  over  her,  knife  in  hand. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  Arab.  "  If  you  come 
nearer  she  dies." 

Even  as  he  spoke  a  shot  cracked  out. 
The  Arab  fell  into  the  water,  carrying 
Peggy  with  him.  But  Monty  was  equal  to 
that  emergency.  He  was  overboard  in  a 
irioment.  Before  the  others  realised  what 
had    happened    he    had     reached     Peggy, 



who  had  come  out  of  her  faint  as  she  struck 
the  revivifying  water,  and  was  swimming 
back  to  the  yacht  with  her. 

Chapter  XI. 

ALEXANDRIA  and  the  exciting  events 
that  had  transpired  there  had  been 
left   behind.     And    on    the    Flitter, 
headed  northward  now,   and   crossing   the 
Bay  of  Biscay,   a  little  council  of  war  had 
gathered  to  discuss  the  actions  of  Monty. 

I've  never  had  such  a  good  time,"  said 
Dan  de  Mille,  "  but  for  his  own  sake  we've 
got  to  stop  Monty.  He's  mad  !  This  last 
freak  to  extend  the  cruise  to  the  North 
Cape  is  the  limit.  He'll  land  in  New  York 
a  pauper  !  We've  got  to  make  him  turn 
and  sail  for  America." 

'  How  ? "  said  Captain  Perry,  whom  the 
men  of  the  party  had  taken  into  their 
confidence.  "If  Mr.  Brewster  tells  me  to 
take  the  yacht  to  the  North  Cape  or  the 
North  Pole,  I'll  do  it.  I  agree  with  you, 
but  I'm  obeying  orders  from  my  owner." 

"Still,  you're  the  commander,"  said 
Subway  Smith.  "  You've  even  the  right  to 
put  Brewster  in  irons  if  you  deem  it  right." 

"  Yes — but  there's  no  chance  to  make  it 

"  Listen,"  said  de  Mille.  "  Monty  has 
said  that  any  of  us  can  leave  the  yacht  at 
the  most  convenient  port.  Well — we're  all 
agreed  that  Boston  is  that  port.  Captain — 
you  heard  him  say  that.  So,  unless  you  get 
special  orders  from  him  countermanding  our 
request,  you  would  take  us  to  Boston, 
wouldn't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir — I  can  agree  to  that." 
All  right,"  said  de   Mille.        Do  us   a 
favour.  Captain.     Stay  away  from  Brewster's 
cabin — and  we'll  guarantee  that  you  get  no 
orders  from  him.      1  'o  you  understand  1 " 

"  I  won't  deny  it — I  do,"  said  Perry.  "  I 
don't  like  it,  gentlemen  — and  yet — well — 
I'll  do  it." 

Monty  awoke  on  the  morning  following 
to  iind  de  Mille  and  Pettingill  in  his  cabin. 

"  Monty,"  said  de  Mille,  "we're  here  on  an 
unpleasant  errand.  There — well,  the  fact  is, 
there's  been  a  bit  of  a  mutiny.  You've  got 
to  stay  in  your  cabin  here — because  we've 
decided  to  go  home.  The  Captain  has  your 
orders  to  take  us  to  any  port  we  name  — 
and  we've  named  Boston.  Also  we're  going 
to  keep  you  from  reaching  him  and  counter- 
manding those  order '." 

What  Monty  said  at  first  may  not  be  set 
down    in    print.      But    he    calmed    down 

Will  you  marry  me  to-morrow  morning  ?'  he  asked.     '  Early  !  it's  my  birthday.'  " 



presently,  and  appeared  resigned  to  his  fate. 
I'm   your   prisoner,    then  1 "    he    said. 
"Well— I'll  just  bet  you,  de  Mille,  that  I 
get  loose  when  I  want  to." 

I'll  take  that  bet  for  a  thousand,"  said 
de  Mille,  "  provided  you  don't  get  help." 

"  Kight,"  said  Monty. 

But  though,  after  his  first  outburst, 
Monty  took  his  imprisonment  lightly,  it  was 
really  a  crushing  blow.  Even  when  his 
guards  grew  seasick  his  smile  was  forced. 

The  man  who  asked  to   be    delivered 
from  his  friends  was  right,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

For  this  meant  that  he  would  be  obliged, 
after  reaching  New  York,  to  rack  his  already 
wearied  brain  in  an  eftbrt  to  discover  new 
extravagances  that  would  support  the 
scrutiny  of  Swearengen  Jone>\  He  had 
counted  on  getting  rid  of  nearly  forty  thou- 
sand dollars  by  the  extension  of  the  cruise 
to  North  Cape.  Now  he  would  have  to 
spend  the  extra  money  the  trip  would  have 
cost,  and  he  would  also  save  the  money  for 
the  last  month  of  the  yacht's  charter — since 
he  would  be  in  New  York  with  more  than 
a  month  of  the  time  to  run. 
Damn  the  luck  !  "  he  said. 

But  fate,  which  had  dealt  Monty  so  many 

blows,  was  stirring  herself  to  aid  him.   Up  on 

deck  the  captain  looked  anxiously  at  his  glass. 

There's  dirty  weather  coming,"  he  said. 

I've  heard  of  the  glass  acting  this  way  in 

the  Pacific — but  it's  not  Atlantic  weather." 

And  his  predictions  were  justified.  For 
the  dirty  weather  the  captain  had  antici- 
pated turned  out  to  be  a  hurricane  of  tropical 
violence.  The  Flitter-  was  not  meant  for 
such  weather.  But  she  would  have  weathered 
it  all  right  had  it  not  been  for  an 
accident — the  breaking  of  her  shaft.  Monty, 
in  his  cabin,  with  the  door  locked,  learned 
of  this  disaster  when  the  terrific  rolling  and 
pitching  changed  in  character,  proving  that 
the  yacht  had  lost  steerage  way,  and  was 
being  buft'etted  helplessly  by  the  huge  seas. 
And  it  was  Peggy  who  remembered  him 
and  came  to  let  him  out. 

On  deck  he  greeted  a  frightened  crowd 
that  was  trying  to  put  the  best  possible 
face  on  matters. 

"Well  !"  he  said,  "if  you'd  let  me  have 
my  way  this  would  never  have  happened  !  " 

But  he  did  not  rub  this  in — being  a  good 
sport.  And  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
inherited  his  million  he  forgot  about  money. 
For  it  was  plain  that  the  situation  was  full 
of  peril — and  he  was  thinking  of  Peggy,  and 

of  the  mother  who  was  waiting  for  her  in 
New  York. 

The  Flitter  lay  helpless  in  the  raging  storm. 
More  than  once  it  seemed  that  her  end  was 
at  hand.  But  the  storm  abated  as  quickly 
as  it  had  arisen.  From  the  moment  of  the 
lessening  of  the  wind  they  had  relief;  within 
six  hours  all  danger  was  past. 

"  Thank  (xod  ! "  said  Captain  Perry, 
devoutly.  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen — I've 
seen  bad  weather,  but  I  never  came  closer 
to  losing  a  ship.  And  now — well,  we've 
got  to  rig  up  sail  and  get  down  to  the 
Canaries,  somehow.  We've  been  blown  out 
of  the  steamship  lanes — and  we're  in  for  a 
week  or  so  of  drifting.  It  looks  like  calm 
weather,  too." 

Once  more  he  was  right.  And  Monty, 
with  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  still  to 
spend,  began  to  think  he  was  going  mad. 
For  they  got  nowhere.  He  had  to  get  to 
New  York,  and  day  followed  day  with  no 
apparent  chance  that  they  could.  The 
others  could  not  understand  his  impatience 
to  get  back  to  New  York  now. 

"  It's  not  so  long  since  you  Avanted  to  go 
to  North  Cape — and  now  you're  worrying 
about  getting  to  New  York  !  "  said  Peggy. 

He  couldn't  explain.  But,  at  the  last 
moment,  when  it  seemed  to  him  he  had 
been  driven  to  the  limit  of  his  endurance,  a 
tramp  steamer  was  sighted. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  cried.  "  Signal  her 
to  take  us  in  tow,  captain  ! " 

"You're  mad!"  said  Perry,  aghast".  '  That 
would  mean  salvage — it  would  cost  you  a 
hundred  thousand  !  " 

"  I  don't  care — do  it ! "  said  Monty. 

But  Perry  refused,  absolutely. 

"it's  a  waste  of  money,"  he  said.  We 
may  be  slow,  but  we'll  make  land  safely." 

"  Then  I'll  do  it  myself ! "  cried  Monty. 
With  a  spring  he  reached  the  box  of  signal 
flags.  He  knew  the  code,  and  in  a  moment 
he  had  hoisted  the  signal  that  appealed  for 
help.  The  others  tried  to  drag  it  down, 
but  he  held  them  off  with  a  revolver. 

"  I've  stood  enough  of  your  interference!" 
he  shouted.     "  Keep  off" ! " 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  Perry,  with  a  groan. 
"They've  seen  the  signal — that  does  it.  He's 
got  to  pay  now." 

Chapter  XII. 

IT  was  the  twenty-second  of  September, 
and  Monty  and  all  of  them  were  back 
in  New  York.     He  was  the  mock  of  all 
but  the  few  loyal  friends  who  had  been  on 



the  yacht,  for  now  everyone  knew  that  he 
liad  gone  through  his  million,  and  was 
practically  a  beggar.  The  salvage  he  had 
had  to  pay  had  left  him  only  a  few  thousands; 
these  he  had  managed  to  spend  in  the  few 
■days  since  his  landing.  No  remonstrances 
had  checked  him.  De  Mille  had  done  his 
best ;  it  had  been  in  vain.  And  now,  with 
the  million  spent  and  his  receipts  ready  for 
Jones  and  the  lawyers,  Monty  had  gone 
back  to  the  old  home  with  the  Grays.  He 
had  sold  all  his  clothes  to  a  junk  dealer  ;  he 
■owned  nothing  but  the  one  suit.  In  his 
pocket  he  had  about  fifty  dollars.  Peggy, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  met  him — and 
wondered  at  his  jubilant  air. 

'Cheer  up,  Peggy  !  "  he  said.  "  It's  been 
a  nightmare — but  to-morrow  I  begin  a  new 
life — or,  rather,  I  go  back  to  the  old  one. 
I'm  going  to  be  the  same  old  Monty 
Brewster  again  !  " 

"  The  old  Monty  !  "  she  said  softly.  "Oh 
— if  that  is  so,  it's  worth  all  the  money 
you've  thrown  away." 

Something  in  her  voice  made  him  look  at 
her.     He  took  her  hand. 

Peggy  !  "  he  said.  "Look  at  me.  Don't 
you  believe  in  me  1 " 

Slowly,  timidly,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

Oh — I  do — yes,  I  do!"  she  cried,  joyfully. 

Monty — you've    changed  since    we   came 

home — since  yesterday  !     I  do  believe  you're 

going  to  make  a  fresh  start   and    be    happy 

—money  or  no  money." 

I  am!"  he  said.  "Peggy — if  you  be- 
lieve that — could  you — would  you — ^dare  I 
ask  you  to  share  it  with  me  ?  Oh,  I  know 
I've  been  a  fool — I  was  blind — I  went  off 
after  a  girl  who  isn't  fit  to  tie  your  shoe- 
laces.    But  it's  yo\i  I've  loved — always." 

She  stared  at  him  incredulously.  But  his 
eyes  convinced  her. 

Monty !  "  she  said,  "  Oh,  my  dear — how 
long  it  took  you  to  find  it  out !  Monty — 
I'm  glad  you're  poor — glad — glad  !  " 

For  a  time  there  were  no  words  between 
them.     Then  Monty  started. 

Will  you  marry  me  to-morrow  morning?" 
be  said.  "Early"?  It's  my  birthday— and 
I  want  to  make  this  fresh  start  with  you." 

For   a    moment    she    hesitated.     Then  : 
Yes,  I  will,"  she  said,  bravely. 
*  Fine  !  "  he  said.     "  Just  one  more  burst 
of   extravagance,    dearest.     We  must  cele- 
brate— I've  got  enough   to  hire  a  car  and 
have  a  good  quiet  dinner  all  to  ourselves." 

"  Monty!"  she  said  reproachfully.      "Your 

last  cent " 

"  I've  got  prospects."  he  said,  gaily. 
"  Several  jobs — and — oh,  lots  of  things  !  " 
Not  to  tell  her  his  news  was  the  hardest 
thing  he  had  ever  had  to  do.  But  he  man- 
aged it,  and  he  wore  down  her  objections. 
They  had  a  glorious  time  !  What  newly 
engaged  couple  could  not  forget  even  poverty 
and  a  lost  million. 

But  that  night,  when  he  took  her  home, 
he  found  a  message  from  Grant  and  Ripley 
that  frightened  him.  It  summoned  him  to 
their  office.     They  were  waiting  for  him. 

"  My  boy,"  said  Grant,  "  I've  got  terrible 
news.  I  haven't  told  you  before,  because  I 
felt  it  could  do  no  good,  and  I've  hoped  for 
the  best.  But  for  three  weeks  we've  had  no 
word  from  Swearengen  Jones  !  He  has  con- 
verted all  the  estate  of  Mr.  Sedgwick  into 
cash — and  he  has  totally  disappeared." 

It  was  a  bolt  from  the  blue.  Monty  stared 
at  them. 

"Then — there  will  be  no  millions'?"  he 
gasped.  '  I've  thrown  away  the  substance  to 
grasp  at  a  shadow  1 " 

"I'm  afraid  so,  "said  Grant.  "We've  waited 
till  the  last  moment,  hoping  that  he  would 
clear  up  the  mystery — he's  a  bit  of  an  eccen- 
tric. But  out  in  Butte,  Montana,  they're 
worried  about  him.  They  think  he's  met 
with  foul  play.  It  may  be  that  he  will  turn 
up  yet^but " 

"  It's  all  in  the  game,"  said  Monty.  "  I've 
got  my  health — and  I'm  going  to  be  married 
in  the  morning.  Thank  God,  I  can  still  go  to 

Not  a  word  of  reproach  for  them.  That 
was  Monty.  His  million  and  Swearengen 
Jones  had  brought  out  the  real  stuff  in  him, 
after  all.  He  exulted  in  the  knowledge  that 
Peggy  trusted  him  enough  to  marry  him  in 
spite  of  everything.  And  not  once,  though 
when  he  had  asked  her  he  had  expected  to  be 
richer  than  ever  when  she  became  his  wife, 
did  he  think  of  backing  out  or  even  of  wait- 
ing. He  had  been  tried  in  the  fire — and  the 
flame  had  only  tempered  him. 

But  when  the  morning  came  and  he  saw 
her  he  felt  that  he  was  free  to  explain  to  her 
at  last — and  he  did. 

"You  see,  I  had  a  reason  for  my  folly,  dear," 
he  said.  "And  I  wasn't  brute  enough  to  ask 
you  to  share  my  poverty." 

"Ah,  but  I'm  going  to  ! "  she  said.  "  Some- 
how I  knew  you  were  in  the  right  all  the 
time,  Monty.     I  trusted  you  !  " 

Joe  Bragdon  and  Elon  Gardner  had  made 



all  the  arrangements.  And  now  they  ap- 
peared and  said  the  minister  was  waiting. 

And  so  Monty  and  Peggy  were  married. 
Monty  rejoiced  at  being  able,  at  last,  to  tell 
these  friends  who  had  stood  by  him  why  he 
had  acted  as  he  did.  He  was  soothed  by  their 
sympathy;  and  while  Dan  de  Millewas  apolo- 
gizing and  promising  him  a  job,  there  was  a 
commotion  in  the  hall.  Into  the  room  strode 
a  tall  man  with  all  the  marks  of  a  Westerner. 
In  his  hand  was  a  satchel. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  shouted.  "  Too  late  for 
the  wedding,  hey?  Well,  nevermind  !  Here's 

your  wedding  present,  my  boy !  There's 
seven  million  dollars  in  that  bag — in  the 
finest  securities  and  certified  checks  you  ever 
saw  !  " 

It  was  Swearengen  Jones.  He  had  indulged 
in  a  lifelong  fondness  for  melodrama.  But  no 
one,  least  of  all  Monty,  reproached  him. 

'You're  all  right,  my  boy — and  you've 
won  a  girl  in  a  million,  if  she  trusted  you 
after  the  way  you've  had  to  act !  "  he  said. 

But  your  time  is  I've  told  the 
papers  the  whole  story — and  from  being 
yesterday's  fool  you'll  become  to-day's  idol  !  " 

[The  End]. 

A  NITA  STEWART,  who  plays  the  principal 
-*^*-  part  in  the  Vitagraph  Picture,  "  Shadows 
of  the  Past,"  was  born  in  Brooklyn,  N.Y., 
on  February  17th,  1895.  She  attended  Brooklyn 
Public  School  No.  89,  and  graduated  as  the 
youngest  member  in  her  class.  She  next  went 
to  Erasmus  High  School,  and  while  there  studied 
vocal  music  and  piano  under  the  direction  of 
Mrs.  Henry  Gunning,  mother  and  teacher  of 
Louise  Gunning,  the  operatic  star. 

While  attending  High  School  Miss  Stewart's 
personal  beauty  was  utilised  by  several  New 
York  artists,  who  employed  her  as  a  subject  for 
calendars  and  high-class  pictorial  lithography. 

It  was  through  her  brother-in-law,  Ralph  Ince, 
that  she  secured  her  first  position  with  the 
Vitagraph  Company.  For  the  first  six  months 
she  did  little  other  than  extra  work,  but  was 
learning  the  rudiments  of  the  picture  game  from 
the  ground  up,  as  Mr.  Ince  naturally  took  a 
strong  personal  interest  in  her  professional 

Her  first  part  of  any  importance  was  the  lead 
in  "  The  Wood  Violet,"  and  she  made  such  a 
profound  impression  that  a  second  picture,  "The 
Lost  Millionaire,"  was  written  for  her,  and  in  it 
she  again  achieved  wonderful  results.  Later,  a 
third  picture,  "The  Treasure  of  Desert  Island," 
was  written  for  Miss  Stewart,  and  again  she  did 
exceptionally  well. 

One  of  her  greatest  professional  accomplish- 
ments was  in  the  lead  in  "A  Million  Bid."  Her 
exceptional  performance  in  this  five-reel  picture 
made  her  a  Bioadway  star  in  one  night.  Miss 
Stewart's  advancement  as  a  moving  picture 
actress  has  been  rapid  and  sure,  and  she  now 
ranks  as  one  of  the  most  stable  and  dependable 
ladies  of  the  Vitagraph  Stock  Company.  She  is 
as  effective  in  corned}'  as  in  tragedy,  and  can 
switch  from  light  to  heavy  roles  at  a  moment's 
notice.  It  will  be  remembered  that  we  made  a 
feature  of  her  portrait  in  our  May  number. 

Tj^  UGENE  PALLETTE,  the  leading  man  with 
-'-'  Reliance  and  Majestic  Films,  is  a  striking 
figure  at  the  Western  studio.  Deciding  at  16 
that  he  wished  to  be  an  actor,  and  meeting  with 
strong  opposition  from  his  father,  he  ran  away 
from  home  and  worked  for  two  years  in  the 
logging  camps  of  Louisiana.  Later,  he  carried 
the  chain  for  a  surveying  outfit  through  Montana 
and  South  Western  Canada.  Then  he  went  to 
Texas,  where  he  worked  as  cattle  puncher.  After 
a  year  of  ranch  life  he  travelled  about,  giving 
exhibitions  of  rough  riding  at  horse  shows  and 
carnivals.  Since  striking  Los  Angeles,  he  has 
played  with  the  Universal,  the  Kay  Bee,  the 
"American,"  and  is  now  appearing  in  romantic 
pictures  of  Western  life,  under  the  generalship 
of  D.  W.  Griffith.  He  is  good  looking,  an  all- 
round  character  actor,  and  a  superb  horseman. 
He  is  also  a  powerful  swimmer,  and  a  month  ago 
was  appointed  municipal  life  guard  at  Venice,  a 
beach  resort  near  Los  Angeles,  and  has  already 
saved  four  persons  from  drowning. 

' '  A  ^T^HO  is  the  other  young  man  who  frequently 
'  *  plays  opposite  Miss  Ostriche  in  Princess 
Films  ? "  is  a  question  which  has  been 
asked  several  times.  Nolan  Gane  is  his  name, 
and  in  "  Too  Much  Turkey  "  he  and  his  charm- 
ing partner  are  seen  to  great  advantage.  This 
fine  looking  young  player  created  quite  a  sen- 
.sation  in  New  York  theatrical  circles  a  few  years 
ago  by  playing  the  part  of  a  real  star  when  but 
thirteen  years  of  age  in  the  production  "  From 
Rags  to  Riches."  Mr.  Gane  has  also  played  with 
Orloft',  the  great  Russian  actor,  and  it  is  said 
that  he  is  one  of  the  most  talented  juvenile  lead- 
ing men  among  American  photoplayers  to-day. 
His  clever  acting  in  the  Princess  productions 
has  already  won  for  him  many  admirers  on  both 
sides  of  "the  pond,"  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
has  been  in  "pictures"  but  a  com parati rely 
short  time. 

Father's  Flirtation. 

From  the  VITAGRAPH  Comedy  Photoplay  by  Edwin  Ray  Coffin. 

Adapted  by  Bruce  McCall. 

The  all-conquering  Bunny,  with  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
ladies,  finds  himself  in  an  awkward  predicament,  but — 
as    usual — after    many     humorous    doings,     emerges 


Cast  : 

Bunny     ... 


Mrs.  Bunny 




The  Widow 


Agnes    ... 




jOLIDAYS  were  over,  and  Betty 

was  going  back  to  college.    Her 

parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bunny, 

were  inasad  way  about  it.    Mr. 

Bunny  tried  to  take  the  matter 

philosophically.        He    puffed 

away  furiously  at  his  big  calabash  pipe,  and 

told  his  wife  between  the  puffs  that  it  was 

ridiculous  to  take  on  as  she  was  doing, 

'  The  girl  must  go  back,"  he  said.    "  She's 
got  to  be  educated,  hasn't  she  1     Very  well 
then,  what's  the  use  of  crying  about  it  ? " 
You    may  talk,"    sobbed    Mrs.    Bunny, 
but  you  feel  just  as  badly  about  it  as  I  do, 
only  you  smoke  and  I  cry — I  can't  help  it." 
Huh  !    that's    the  worst   of  a  woman,' 
grunted  Mr  Bunny. 

But  even  he  was  rather  affected  when  Betty 
camein — impulsive. loving-hearted  Betty, who 
threw  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck, 
smothered  him  with  kisses,  and  shed  copious 

'Dash  it,  Betty,"  said  Mr.  Bunny,  "  don't 
cry  like  that.  You're  taking  all  the  stiffening 
out  of  my  shirt-front." 

Betty  dried  her  tears  and  her  mother 
followed  suit.  Between  them  they  got  Mr. 
Bunny  into  his  enormous  overcoat,  and 
clapped  his  hat  on  his  head.  Mother  and 
daughter  managed  to  put  a  fairly  good  face  upon 
the  matter  up  to  the  moment  of  parting,  when 
both  dissolved  in  tears  once  more.  The  train 
took  Betty  away,  and  Mr.  Bunny  took  his 
wife  home,  and  did  his  best  to  comfort  her. 
You've  got  me,  my  dear,"  he  said 

Mrs.  Bunny  stopped  crying.  "  Yes,"  she 
retorted,   '  and  sometimes  I  wish  you'd  go 

away  to  school  instead  of  Betty." 

Mr.  Bunny  could  not  think  of  anything^ 
effective  to  say. 

It  was  about  three  weeks  later  that  a  letter 
came  from  Betty  begging  them  to  pay  her  a 

"  You  have  promised  so  often,"  she  wrote, 
"and  you  never  come.  All  the  other  girls' 
parents  pay  them  visits  and  give  them  a  good 
time,  and  I  insist  that  you  do  so  too.  1  can 
get  a  room  for  you  in  the  boarding-house  where 
I  stay.  I  won't  take  any  refusal,  and  I  shall 
expect  you  early  next  week." 

"  Well,  my  dear  1 "  asked  Mr.  Bunny,  after 
his  wife  had  read  the  letter  aloud. 

"  We're  going,"  she  said,  adding  :  "  I  shall 
expect  you  to  be  on  your  best  behaviour." 

"My  love,"  said  her  husband,  with  a  toui^h 
of  reproach  in  his  tone,  "  ain't  I  always  on 
my  best  behaviour  1  " 

"I  rem.ember  once    or   twice still,    I 

shall  be  there  to  look  after  you.    I  shall  see 
that  you  don't  get  into  mischief." 

It  was  with  no  joyful  anticipation,  on  Mr. 
Bunny's  part,  at  any  rate,  that  they  set  out 
upon  their  journey.  His  troubles  began  at  the 
very  outset.  Mrs.  Bunny  stepped  briskly 
into  the  railway  carriage,  leaving  her  husband 
to  follow  with  the  hand  luggage.  The  gang- 
way was  barely  wide  enough  for  him  to  pass 
through  sideways,  but  he  made  a  frontal 
attack  upon  it,  with  a  bag  in  each  hand,  and 
got  nearly  wedged  in.  He  tried  other  tactics, 
and  succeeded  in  forcing  the  passage  with 
great  difficulty  and  considerable  loss  of 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  his 
wife  later,  "I  believe  I  must  be  getting  fat." 



Perhaps  you  are  a  trifle  portly,"  she 

"  That's  it,"  said  Mr.  Bunny.  "  Portly— 
that's  the  word." 

Betty  did  not  meet  the  train,  but  she  was 
•watching  from  the  window  of  the  boarding- 
house,  and  when  they  came  in  sight  she 
rushed  out  to  meet  them,  and  bustled  them 
into  her  sitting-room. 

Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  she  cried 
•enthusiastically.  "  We'll  have  such  a  time. 
I  do  want  father  to  enjoy  himself." 

"  Your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Bunny  severely, 

will  be  under  my  eye." 

The  landlady — a  cold,  austere-looking 
woman — was  introduced,  and  preliminaries 
(having  been  arranged,  led  Mrs.  Bunny  away 
to  show  her  the  room  prepared  for  her.  Mr. 
Bunny,  who,  with  a  huge  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
had  been  wandering  up  and  down  the  room, 
■was  left  alone  with  his  daughter. 

"  Poor  old  dad,"  said  Betty.  "  He  shall 
have  a  good  time,  he  shall." 

Mr.  Bunny  kissed  his  daughter,  winked 
solemnly,  and  said  : 

Look  here,  Betty,  you're  a  good  girl. 
I'm  going  to  take  a  stroll  round  the  town, 
iust  to  see  the  place,  you  know.  Don't  tell 
your  mother." 

Betty  laughed.  "  I  won't  say  a  word,"  she 
said,  "  but  mind  you  don't  get  into  mischief." 

Mr.  Bunny  went  out  chuckling  to  himself. 
To  escape  even  for  an  hour  from  his  wife's 
watchful  eye  and  rather  sharp  tongue  gave 
him  a  pleasant  sense  of  freedom.  And  there 
was  no  harm  in  a  quiet  stroll. 

Alas  for  good  intentions  !  He  had  not 
gone  far  before  he  forgot  all  about  them  and 
about  Mrs.  Bunny  as  well.  It  was  a  woman 
who  proved  his  undoing,  as  has  happened 
often  enough  before,  and  to  men  made  of 
sterner  stuff  than  Mr.  Bunny,  who  had  a 
roving  eye. 

She  was  a  smart  little  woman  too,  as  pretty 
as  apicture,  Mr. Bunny  thought.  She  stepped 
briskly  along,  and  in  passing  threw  him  a 
sidelong  glance  and  a  roguish  smile. 

That  smile  went  straight  to  Mr.  Bunny's 
susceptible  heart.  He  turned  and  looked 
after  her,  and  then — was  it  accident  or 
design  1 — she  dropped  one  of  the  parcels  she 
was  carrying.  Gallantly  Mr.  Bunny  ran  to 
her  assistance. 

Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said  sweetly, 
giving  him  another  smile  which  prompted 
him  to  suggest  that  he  should  carry  her 
parcels  for  her. 

She  accepted  gratefully,  and  Mr.  Bunny 
was  promptly  constituted  light  porter.  He 
was  enjoying  himself  hugely,  and  no  thought 
of  Mrs.  Bunny  crossed  his  mind. 

The  little  woman  chattered  away,  and  so 
captivated  him  that  when  they  reached  the 
house  where  she  lived  and  he  had  handed  over 
her  parcels,  he  found  courage  to  ask  if  he 
could  call  upon  her  that  afternoon. 

"Oh,  yes,  do,"  she  answered,  so  cordially 
that  Mr.  Bunny  was  convinced  he  had  made 
a  conquest.  What  a  charming  little  woman 
she  was !  None  of  your  silly,  giggling 
girls,  but  a  smart,  sensible  woman  of  the 
world.  He  walked  away  with  a  jaunty  air 
and  a  sense  of  exhilaration  which  made  him 
feel  almost  a  boy  again. 

He  was  in  the  mood  for  adventures  that 
morning,  and  adventures  came  his  way. 
With  his  new  youthfulness  he  looked  with 
indulgent  eyes  upon  a  party  of  four  young 
fellows,  wonderfully  arrayed  in  fantastic 
clothes,  who  were  dancing  along  the  pave- 
ment and  seemed  remarkably  joyous  about 
something  or  other.  They  were  shouting  at 
the  top  of  their  voices  something  which 
Mr.  Bunny  guessed  to  be  a  college  war  cry. 

"  Rah — rah — rah — rah  !  " 

Mr.  Bunny,  who  felt  not  a  day  older  than 
these  merry  lads,  recalled  many  such  mad 
doings  in  his  college  days,  and  sighed  be- 
cause those  days  were  over.  He  followed 
them,  and  forgetting  that  he  had  put  on 
flesh  in  recent  years,  wished  that  he  could 
wear  clothes  and  a  hat  like  theirs,  and  go 
dancing  and  shouting  through  the  streets. 

One  of  the  young  fellows  turned  and  saw 
him  following,  called  out  something  to  his 
companions,  and  in  another  minute  the 
jolly  quartette  had  surrounded  him  and 
were  dancing  about  like  wild  Indians. 

They  had  probably  expected  that  Mr. 
Bunny  would  be  angry,  and  when  he  too 
began  to  laugh,  and  even  to  dance,  they  were 

"  He's  one  of  us,"  cried  one.  "  He's  a 
real  '  Rah-rah  boy  ! '  " 

"  Rah  —  rah  —  rah  —  rah,"  roared  Mr. 
Bunny,  cutting  capers  with  astonishing 
agility.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  held  up 
his  hand  to  command  attention. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  I  must  have 
some  '  Rah-rah '  clothes  too." 

"  You  shall,"  they  cried  in  chorus,  and 
linking  arms,  two  on  either  side,  they  led 
him  to  a  big  outfitter's  shop  and  marched 
him  up  to  the  counter. 



"  He  somehow  got  into  the  garment. 

''  I  want  some  '  Rah-rah '  clothes  like 
these  fellows  are  wearing,"  said  Mr.  Bunny. 

The  assistant  stared. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  one  of  the  young 
men.  "  He's  one  of  the  boys.  Fit  him 

The  assistant  smiled,  and  looked  critically 
at  Mr.  Bunny.  "  It's  rather  a  large  order," 
he  remarked. 

Don't  you  try  to  be  funny,  young 
fellow,"  said  Mr.  Bunny,  severely.  "  Trot 
out  the  tape  measure." 

To  cut  a  long  story  short,  Mr.  Bunny 
was  with  some  difficulty  accommodated  with 
a  suit  of  some  light  striped  material,  with 
black  braid  round  the  edges  of  the  coat,  the 
sleeves,  and  the  legs  of  the  trousers.  It 
was  very  much  like  a  suit  of  pyjamas,  and 
when  a  hat  and  tie  had  been  found  to  match, 
his  appearance  was  certainly  startling.  He 
paid   the  bill  and   went  out  with  his  new 

companions,  proving  himself 
one  of  the  boys  indeed  by 
standing  drinks  all  round. 

Time  slipped  away,  and  at 
last  so  did  Mr.  Bunny.  He  had 
forgotten  all  about  lunch,  but 
he  had  suddenly  realised  that 
it  was  about  time  to  go  and 
keep  his  appointment  with  the 
lady  whose  squire  he  had  been 
in  the  m.orning.  He  did  not 
tell  the  "  Rah-rah  "  boys  where 
he  was  going,  but  slipped  away 
when  they  were  not  looking. 
He  would  have  preferred  a 
different  costume  from  the  one 
he  was  now  wearing,  but  there 
was  no  time  to  go  and  change. 
He  felt  a  little  self-conscious 
as  he  walked  through  the 
streets,  but  nobody  seemed  to 
think  his  appearance  was  any- 
thing out  of  the  ordinary  until 
he  reached  the  house  to  which 
he  was  bound. 

Two  ladies  had  just  come 
out  and  were  descending  the 
steps  as  he  was  about  to 
ascend.  One  of  them  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  cried  out  to 
the  other : 

"  My  word,  Marie  !  Isn't 
he  the  limit  1  Did  you  ever 
see  the  likes  of  that?" 

"  Sakes  !  "  exclaimed  Marie, 
and    shrieked   with    laughter. 

"  It   must  be  the    clown  from   the    circus. 

Ain't  he  fat  1 " 

It    was    true   that   Mr.    Bunny's   glaring 

clothes   rather   exaggerated   his    bulk,    but 

Marie  had  no  right  to  reproach  him  on  that 

score,  for  she  was  no  midget  herself.     Mr. 

Bunny,    however,    ignored   the  ladies,  went 

up  the  steps,  and  rang  the  bell. 

His  acquaintance  of  the  morning  welcomed 

him  effusively. 

"  You  dear  man,"   she  said.     "  Do   you 

know  I  felt  sure  you  wouldn't  come  1 " 
"  Couldn't  keep  away,"  he  rejoined,  with 

an  ardent  glance. 

The  lady    sighed,    and    dropped    upon   a 

settee.      "  Men,"  she  murmured,  "are  such 

deceivers.     One  never  knows  whether  they 

are  to  be  trusted." 

Mr.  Bunny  also  took  a  seat,  very  near  the 


"  You    may    trust    me,"    he    said.         I 



wouldn't  deceive  you.  Do  you  know,"  he 
added,  "  I  took  a  fancy  to  you  the  first 
moment  I  saw  you." 

The  lady  sighed  again  and  smiled.  How 
you  do  go  on,"  she  said.    "  I  like  your  suit." 

Mr.  Bunny  surveyed  himself  complacently. 

Yes,  rather  smart,  I  think,"  he  said.    Then 

edging  still  nearer  to  the  lady,  he  murmured, 

"  You're  awfully  pretty.     I'd    like  to  kiss 

you.     Would  you  mind — ^just  one  ?  " 

The  lady  held  up  her  finger,  frowning 
and  smiling  at  the  same  time  in  a  most 
bewitching  way.  "  You  naughty,  naughty 
man,"  she  said,  and  would  probably  have  said 
more  if  there  had  not  been  a  ring  at  the 
door  bell  at  that- moment. 

"  Some  ladies  to  see  you,  m'm,"  said  a 
maid,  putting  her  head  between  the  curtains, 
and  Mr.  Bunny's  charming  friend  left  him 


*         *  * 

If  Mr.  Brnny  had  enjoyed  himself,  his 
wife's  experiences  had  not  been  so  pleasant. 
She  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  room 
which  had  been  allotted  to  her.  She  con- 
sidered that  her  daughter's  apartment  was 
uncomfortable  and  badly  furnished,  and  she 
quickly  formed  a  very  unfavourable  opinion 
of  the  landlady. 

"  Pack  up  your  things,  Betty,"  she  said. 
"  We'll  find  somewhere  else  to  stay." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  the  landlady, 
spitefully,  '  judging  by  some  people's  man- 
ners, that  my  house  is  a  good  deal  better 
than  some  people  have  been  used  to." 

"  If  you  mean  me,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bunny, 
hotly,  "let  me  tell  you  that  I  consider  you 
a  vulgar,  impertinent  person.  I  shall  take 
my  daughter  away  at  once.  Manners, 

"  P'haps  you'll  pay  me  what's  due,"  said 
the  landlady,  "  if  you've  got  the  money, 
that  is — -which  I  doubt.  Then  you  can  go 
and  welcome.  I  have  only  gentlefolk  in  my 

Mrs.  Bunny  deigned  no  reply  in  words, 
but  she  paid  the  money,  and  the  landlady 
walked  off  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  making 
further  withering  remarks  about  "'  some 

Their  belongings  were  soon  packed,  and 
Mrs.  Bunny  and  Betty  left  the  house.  The 
landlady  stood  at  the  door  to  see  them  off, 
and  there  was  another  wordy  battle  on  the 

Two  ladies  who  were  passing  the  house 
stayed   to    listen,    and    learning  that    Mrs. 

Bunny  and  her  daughter  were  seeking 
apartments,  suggested  their  own  boarding 

Mrs.  Sweet  will  just  love  to  have  you," 
said  one  of  them,  that  very  "  Marie  "  who- 
had  been  so  amused  by  the  spectacle  of 
Mr.  Bunny  in  his      Rah-rah  "  clothes. 

The  four  ladies  walked  off  together,  and 
it  was  their  ring  at  Mrs.  Sweet's  door  bell 
that  had  interrupted  Mr.  Bunny's  love 

That  gentleman  presently  heard  a  voice 
he  knew  only  too  well.  He  peeped  cautiously 
between  the  curtains,  and  there  in  the  hall, 
within  a  few  feet  of  him,  saw  to  his  dismay — 
his  wife  and  Betty.  He  heard  his  wife  say 
that  they  wanted  rooms,  and  waited  to  hear 
no  more.  A  hurried  glance  round  showed 
him  a  door  on  the  other  side,  and  he  wa& 
through  it  in  a  moment.  He  saw  stairs, 
and  sprang  up  several  steps  at  once. 
Reaching  the  top,  he  opened  the  first  door 
he  came  to,  and  found  himself  in  a  bedroonu 

He  had  made  his  escape  only  just  in  time. 
Mrs.  Sweet  showed  her  callers  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  looked  round  for  Mr. 
Bunny.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and 
excusing  herself  for  a  moment,  she  hurried 
out  into  the  hall.  Not  a  sign  of  him  was 
visible,  and  much  puzzled,  she  returned  tO' 
her  new  guests.  After  a  talk  about  terms 
she  led  the  way  upstairs,  and  Mr.  Bunny 
was  scared  almost  out  of  his  life  by  the 
sound  of  their  voices  and  footsteps  ap- 
proaching the  very  room  in  which  he  had 
taken  refuge.  Without  a  second's  hesitation 
he  dived  under  the  bed,  and  lay  there 
quaking.  He  heard  his  wife  assuring 
Mrs.  Sweet  that  the  room  would  suit  very 
nicely.     Then  the  landlady  went  away. 

"  I  wonder  where  on  earth  your  father 
is,"  said  Mrs.  Bunny.  "  He's  up  to  mischief 
somewhere,  I'll  be  bound,  leaving  all  the 
worry  and  work  to  me  as  usual.  As  soon 
as  you  have  unpacked,  Betty,  you  must  go 
and  look  for  him.  I  won't  have  him 
wandering  about  a  strange  town  alone." 

"All  right,  mother,"  said  Betty.  "  I  won't 
be  five  minutes  unpacking.  You  lie  down 
and  rest.     I'm  sure  you're  tired." 

Her  mother  obeyed,  and  presently  Betty 
went  to  search  for  the  lost  one.  Mr.  Bunny- 
was  in  a  pretty  predicament.  He  was 
almost  afraid  to  breathe,  for  the  least 
movement  might  bring  disaster.  He  had 
never  been  so  uncomfortable  in  his  life,  and 
wished    with    all    his    heart    that    he    had 



never  set  eyes  on  Mrs.  Sweet. 

At  last  he  felt  that  he  could  not  stay  there 
another  moment.  The  room  was  so  silent 
that  he  thought  his  wife  must  be  asleep. 
Stealthily  he  worked  his  way  from  under  the 
bed.  He  was  nearly  clear  of  it  when  Mrs. 
Bunny  stirred  and  sat  up.  Her  husband 
shot  back  again,  but  he  had  forgotten  his 
caution.  Mrs.  Bunny  heard  a  sound,  and 
scrambled  off  the  bed.  She  saw,  protruding 
from  beneath  it,  a  foot  and  part  of  a  gaily 
striped  trouser  leg.  With  a  shriek  of  terror 
she  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  poor  Mr. 
Jiunny  heard  her  screaming  over  the  landing  : 

"  .Mrs.  Sweet !     Mrs.  Swet-t !     There's  a 

threw  a  shawl  round  his  head,  hiding  his  face 
as  much  as  possible.  He  opened  the  door. 
Nobody  wasin  sight,  and  he hurrieddownstairs 
and  out  at  the  front  door. 

But  his  luck  was  dead  out.  Two  ladies 
were  mounting  the  steps,  and  catching  sight 
of  the  extraordinary  apparition,  one  of  them 
screamed  out. 

That's  mydress — mynewdress !  Thieves ! 
Help  ! 

Both  ladies  made  a  dash  at  Mr.  Bunny, 
who  turned  in  desperation  and  fled  back 
into  the  house  again.  He  dared  not  go 
upstairs,  and  he  dashed  through  the  first 
door    he    saw.     He    found    himself   in    the 

"  They  pushed  him  into  the  drawing-room." 

man  under  my  bed  !     Mrs.  Swee  ee-eet !  " 

Then  he  heard  her  scampering  down  the 
stairs,  still  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 
Evidently  he  could  not  stay  where  he  was. 
He  made  a  dash,  skipped  along  the  landing 
and  got  into  another  room. 

The  whole  house  was  in  commotion. 
Women  were  screaming,  '  Fire!  Burglars' 
Murder  ! "  He  heard  people  running  up  the 
stairs.  What  on  earth  was  he  to  do  1  He  saw 
something  lying  on  a  chair,  picked  it  up,  and 
had  an  inspiration.  It  was  a  lady's  dress,  and 
-evidently  its  owner  was  of  a  substantial 
figure.     He  somehow  got  into  the  garment. 

kitchen,  and  the  old  black  cook  let  out  a 
series  of  blood-curdling  yells  which  sent  him 
flying  out  again  by  another  door.  He  was 
now  in  the  servants'  quarters.  He  burst  into 
a  room  where  the  scullery-maid  was  doing" 
her  hair.  She,  too,  began  to  yell,  and  truly 
by  this  time  Mr.  Bunny's  aspect  was  enough 
to  scare  anybody.  He  did,  however,  manage 
to  induce  her  to  be  quiet  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  threw  himself  on  her  mercy.  A 
gift  of  money  secured  her  services,  and  she 
helped  him  to  escape  by  way  of  the  window 
while,  so  it  seemed  from  the  noise,  the  whole 
household  was  banging  at  the   room  door. 



The  girl  was  loyal.  She  declared  that  she 
had  seen  nobody,  an  assertion  which  sent 
the  black  cook  into  a  fury. 

Why,"  she  screamed,  "  ah  done  seed  it 
wid  my  own  eyes  !  It  come  a-seootin' 
through  de  kitchen  right  inter  this  yer  room." 

However,  it  was  plain  that,  nobody  else 
was  in  the  room  now.  Mr.  Bunny  was  by 
this  time  clear  of  the  house,  and  running 
down  the  street  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt,  with 
Marie's  skirt  held  up  clear  of  his  ankles,  and 
a  crowd  of  men,  boys,  and  women  shouting 
and  laughing  at  his  heels.  He  ran  like  a  hare, 
but  he  was  caught  at  last  in  the  outstretched 
arms  of  a  burly  policeman.  His  struggles 
were  vain,  and  his  subsequent  explanations 
•confused  and  unsatisfactory. 

He  was  taken  into  custody,  and  entered 
the  office  of  the  inspector  at  the  moment  the 
owner  of  the  dress  was  reporting  her  loss  to 
that  functionary. 

Mr.  Bunny's  entrance  caused  a  sensation. 
The  inspector  and  constable  went  into  fits  of 
laughter,  and  Marie  cried  out : 

Why,  there  it  is  !  He's  got  my  dress  on. 
Well,  of  all  the  impudence  ! " 

By  this  time  Mr.  Bunny  had  unwound  the 
shawl  from  his  head  and  face,  and  had  begun 
to  take  the  dress  off  as  well.  As  he  handed 
to  Marie  her  property  she  burst  out  laughing. 
Why,  it's  the  gentleman  we  saw  going 
into  the  boarding-house  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Bunny  explained  that  it  was  all  a  joke 
on  his  part,  and  any  lingering  doubt  which 
Marie  may  have  felt  disappeared  when  he 
pressed  upon  her  a  generous  monetary  com- 
pensation. As  she  refused  to  charge  him  the 
police  had  no  option  but  to  let  him  go.  The 
sound  of  their  laughter  followed  him  into 
the  street. 

He  had  only  got  a  short  distance  from  the 
station  when  he  met  his  wife  and  Betty  coming 
in  search  of  him.  They  had  been  about  to  appeal 
to  the  police,  and  were  so  overjoyed  to  find 
him  again  safe  and  sound  that  even  Mrs. 
Bunny  forgot  to  ask  awkward  questions. 
They  led  him  away  in  triumph,  a  chastened 
and  penitent  captive. 

As  they  reached  the  p'ace  where  Betty 
had  been  staying,  Mr.  Bunny  was  about  to 

turn  in  there,  but  they  informed  him  that 
they  had  found  another  boarding  house.  He 
Went  on  willingly  enough,  but  when  they 
reached  the  street  in  which  Mrs.  Sweet's 
house  was  situated  he  became  restive  and 
nervous.  When  he  found  that  they  were 
going  to  take  him  in  there  he  flatly  refused. 
He  sat  down  on  the  steps  in  front  of  the 
house  and  declined  to  move. 

"  But  why  1 "  asked  the  astonished  Mrs. 
Bunny.     "  What's  the  matter  1 " 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  the  place,"  he 
said  weakly.     '  I'll  go  to  a  hotel." 

"Oh,  that's  nonsense,"  snapped  his  wife. 
"  You're  coming  in  now." 

And  in  he  had  to  go.  They  pushed  him 
into  the  drawing-room  and  ran  away  to 
fetch  Mrs.  Sweet.  But  that  lady  found 
him  first.  She  came  into  the  room  by 
another  door,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  him 
flung  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
him  soundly. 

"Don't  do  that — you  mustn't,"  spluttered 
Mr.  Bunny.  "  Look  out — get  away.  I  tell 
you — she's  coming." 

He  pushed  Mrs.  Sweet  away  just  in  time. 
Mrs.  Bunny  and  Betty,  talking  excitedly, 
burst  into  the  room. 

"  This  is  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Bunny. 
"  I  thought  he'd  got  lost,  or  run  over  or 
something.  I've  been  in  such  a  way  about 

She  embraced  him  affectionately.  Mr. 
Bunny  had  not  such  a  kissing  in  one  after- 
noon for  years.  He  threw  a  scared,  beseech- 
ing look  at  Mrs.  Sweet  over  his  wife's 
shoulder.  He  could  see  that  the  landlady 
meant  to  make  trouble.  She  shook  her  fist 
at  him  and  looked  furiously  angry.  He  was 
in  for  it  now.  Stay !  There  was  one 
chance.  Praying  that  his  wife  might  not 
see,  he  thrust  a  hand  into  his  pocket,  took 
out  a  crumpled  handful  of  dollar  bills,  and 
handed  them  over  Mrs.  Bunny's  unconscious 
shoulder  to  Mrs.  Sweet. 

Mr.  Bunny  had  never  known  this  sort  of 
thing  fail  with  landladies,  and  it  did  not 
fail  now.  Mrs.  feweet  took  the  bills, 
glanced  at  them,  and  smiled  knowingly. 
Mr.  Bunny  breathed  again. 

TTELEN  HOLMES,  whose  work  in  railroad 
-^  -*■  dramas  has  won  for  her  the  title  of  "The 
Daughter  of  the  Railroad,"  will  shortly  be 
seen  in  another  railroad  drama,  "  The  Lost  Mail 
Sack."     As  a   result  of  the  experience  she   has 

gained  in  railroad  stories,  Miss  Holmes  can  run 
a  locomotive,  operate  a  telegraph  transmitter, 
or  couple  a  cai'  as  good  as  any  railroad  man. 
"The  Lost  Mail  Sack"  shows  the  charming 
Kalem  star  in  an  unusually  strong  role. 


At  the  Foot  of  the 


Adapted  from  the  REX  Film  by  Owen  Garth. 

A  husband  discovers  his  false  wife's  love  for  another  man  but  does 
not  suspect  her  plan  to  elope.  The  new  maid — a  tool  of  thieves — is 
treated  kindly  by  the  husband  and  hesitates  to  assist  in  an  expected 
burglary  which  occurs  simultaneously  with  the  wife's  departure,  but 
the  maid's  faithfulness  to  the  husband  asserts  itself  and  she 
shoots  the  lover,  at  the  same  time  driving  the  burglars  from 
the   house   and   eventually   taking  the   place  of  the  cast-off  wife. 

The   Husband 
The  Wife... 
The  Maid... 
The  Friend 


ELLA  HALL       The  Stool  Pigeon  ... 
...ALAN    FORREST      The  Detective 

The  Crooks 





pB  LEONARD  married  for  love, 
at  least  he  thought  so,  but  his 
wife,  Lydia,  might  have  been 
sentimental  in  the  early 
wedded  days ;  though  now, 
after  a  couple  of  years,  the 
situation  palled  on  her.  Luxury  had  been 
her  real  object  in  marrying  Leonard,  the  rich, 
very  rich  business  man.  She  had  thought 
wealth  the  all-to-be-desired  in  life.  She  had 
learnt  the  truth.  Even  every  luxury  she 
desired  did  not  reconcile  her  to  her  rather 
over-bearing,  masterful  husband,  whose 
daily  life  seemed  to  be  a  fight  for  gold,  and 
more  gold.  The  pair  drifted  slowly  apart 
till  he  left  her  to  her  own  devices  and 
buried  himself  in  his  work. 

When  things  get  to  this  pitch  in  married 
life  it  is  dangerous — for  the  woman.  The 
danger  appeared  in  its  usual  form  to  Lydia. 
She  was  handsome,  in  a  dark,  somewhat  bold 
style;  ^he  liked  pleasure  and  revelled  in  the 
complimentary  attentions  of  men.  Thrown 
into  a  life  of  gaiety  outside  her  husband's 
sphere,  she  met  one  man  who,  by  his  gallantry 
and  attendance,  became  her  knight-errant ; 
she  came  to  dream  of  him  as  a  brave  knight 
who  would  rescue  her  from  the  gilded  castle 
prison,  and  he  was  only  too  willing  to  play 
his  part — it  suited  his  temperament,  for  to 
Wilbert  Romaine  a  woman  in  an  ordinary 
situation  had  no  attraction,  while  intrigue 
was  as  the  breath  of  his  nostrils. 

Kingsmount,  where  the  Leonards  lived, 
had  grown  to  fame  on  account  of  the  very 
rich  people  who  took  up  their  abode  there  ; 

it  became  also  notorious  for  a  gang  of  crooks 
who  were  attracted  by  the  wealth  of  the 
place  and  fattened  on  the  spoils  of  their 
clever  schemes.  Engineered  by  a  brilliant 
scamp,  whose  dupes,  drawn  from  all  classes, 
walked  in  fear  of  him,  these  schemes  were 
ingenious,  and  always  original.  Never  was 
the  same  trick  played  twice,  which  accounted 
for  the  difficulty  in  tracking  the  gang  down. 
The  crooks  had  a  great  plot  on  now,  no  less 
a  one  than  to  rob  wealthy  Bob  Leonard's 
safe — a  full  one,  no  doubt,  as  they  reckoned. 
But  to  crack  the  crib"  as  ordinary  burglars 
was  foreign  to  their  ways — they  could  aflFord 
to  disdain  such  crude  methods.  First  they 
must  have  a  spy  for  information— a  traitor  in 
the  house  who  would  open  the  doors  to 
them  when  they  came,  and  make  their 
task  easy. 

And  in  that  way  little  Ella  Hall  came  to 
serve  in  the  Leonard  household.  How  she 
came  to  act  for  the  gang  is  impossible  to  say : 
that  she  was  in  their  clutches  and  forced  to 
do  their  will  was  obvious.  For  weeks  they 
had  waited  their  opportunity,  then  it  came  : 
the  Leonards'  advertised  for  a  maid,  and 
Ella  was  forced  to  apply  for  and  accept  the 

Poor  little  girl,  frail  as  a  field  flower,  and 
as  pretty ;  a  sad  face,  wreathed  in  fluffy  fair 
hair,  she  had  seemed  the  one  to  play  such  a 
part — no  one  would  have  suspected  her 
duplicity.  So  much  the  better  for  the 

Bob  Leonard  had  just  come  down  from 



his  study  with  his  face  hard  set  and  angry 
fire  in  his  eyes.  He  glared  at  his  wife  who 
had  just  come  in  and  stood  by  the  hall  table 
tugging  nervously  at  her  obstinate  gloves. 
I  saw  that  fellow  Komaine  accompanying 
you  home,"cried  Bob.  "  Have  I  not  said  that 
you  should  avoid  him  ?  Haven't  I  objected 
to  your  being  in  his  company  ?  Is  my  word 
to  stand  for  nought  to  you  ? " 

"  Why  should  I  avoid  him  1 "  petulantly 
answered  Lydia,  turning  to  face  her  husband 
and  brave  him.  "  Wilbert  Romaine  is 
intelligent  and  interesting.  He  moves  in  the 
best  circles.  Why  should  I  deny  myself  the 
pleasure  of  a  talk  with  him  ? " 

Because  I  object.  That  should  be 

The  maid  who  had  entered  the  hall 
crouched  back  and  listened  with  blanching 
face  as  she  heard  the  high-pitched  words. 

If  I  obeyed  all  your  injunctions  I  should 
do  nothing,"  retorted  Lydia. 

Better  that  than  you  should  disgrace 
yourself  and  my  house." 

What  disgrace  is  there  in  talking  with 
a  friend,  who  happens  to  be  a  gentleman  ? " 
Gentleman  !  Your  notion  of  a  gentleman 
is  distorted."  There  was  the  utmost  scorn 
in  Bob's  voice.  Little  Ella,  peeping  out  from 
a  recess,  let  her  eyes  fall  on  him  in  admiration. 
Romaine  had  tried  to  kiss  her  once  when  he 
called  for  Mrs.  Leonard.  He  disgusted  her, 
and  she  felt  towards  Bob,  as  he  spoke,  as  to 
one  who  championed  her  against  one  who 
had  insulted  her. 

'  To  link  your  name  with  that  fellow's  is 
to  court  scandal,"  continued  Bob,  half  turning 
to  go.  I  forbid  you  to  speak  to  him  again, 
and  if  I  find  him'  here  I  shall  kick 
him  out  of  the  grounds  ignominiously." 

I  shall  do  as  I  like,"  pouted  Lydia,  half 
in  tears. 

''  You  will  do  as  I  bid  you,"  flung  back 
her  husband,  as  he  went  towards  his  study, 

or  you  will  regret  the  consequences." 

Lydia  shrugged  her  shoulders  when  his 
figure  disappeared,  and  the  maid  came  out 
of  her  hiding  place  to  help  her  mistress,  but 
she  lingared  a  moment  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  to  gaze  wistfully  at  the  retreating 
figure  of  her  master  before  she  relieved 
Mrs.  Leonard  of  her  wraps. 

Little  Ella  had  been  deeply  attracted  by 
the  brusque  man — her  master — during  the 
short  stay  in  his  house.  She  contrasted 
him  with  those  who  ruled  her.  She  admired 
him  for  his  strong,  straightforward  qualities. 

and  became  sick  at  heart  when  she  remem- 
bered the  base  purposes  for  which  she  had 
entered  the  house  -  the  spying  which  she 
had  been  forced  to  do  and  which  would 
result  in  his  injury.  She  was  thinking  of 
these  things  as  she  attended  on  Mrs. 
Leonard,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  her  • 
frail  frame.  To-night  they  were  coming — 
the  thieves — she  had  prepared  the  way  for 
them,  discovered  the  combination  of  the 
safe  and  informed  them.  She  trembled 
with  fear  and  disgust,  and  her  trembling 
attracted  Mrs.  Leonard's  attention. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Ella"?" 
cried  Lydia,  as  the  maid  let  her  cloak  slip 
to  the  floor.  Then  catching  sight  of  the 
drawn,  pale  face  :   "Are  you  ill  V 

"Oh,  no,"  stammered  Ella,  "not  ill,  but  I 
had  a  queer  feeling  at  the  moment.  I  dou't 
know  what  it  was.  It  has  passed  now." 
The  poor  girl  smiled  bravely. 

Mrs.  Leonard's  mind  worked  rapidly. 
"  You  look  unwell.  You  had  better  take  a 
rest,"  she  said.  Lay  my  things  away,  put 
out  my  thick  travelling  costume  and  then 
go  to  bed.     I  shall  not  want  you  any  more." 

"Yes,  madamc.  Thank  you,"  answered 
Ella,  glad  to  escape,  and  snatching  up 
her  mistress'  coat  and  hat  sped  away. 

Mrs.  Leonard  smiled.  That  was  one 
danger  out  of  the  way.  If  her  husband 
only  went  to  bed  early  the  course  would  be 
clear.  She  had  no  compunction,  no  regret 
in  what  she  was  going  to  do.  Her  husband's 
stern  commands  and  restrictions,  the  evapo- 
ration of  her  ideals,  led  her  to  the  step 
without  a  pang  of  remorse.  Wilbert 
Romaine  would  come  for  her  soon  after  mid- 
night. She  would  run  away  with  him  to  a  life 
of  romance  and  gaiety — all  that  was  denied 
her  under  the  stern  roof  of  this  cold,  dis- 
appointed husband  of  hers.  She  would  be 
free  of  all  trammels.  With  Wilbert  she 
would  live  life  as  it  came,  and  there  would 
be  no  one  to  say  "  nay  "  to  this  or  that 
which  she  might  desire  to  have  or  to  do. 
*  *  * 

Masses  of  black  clouds  rolled  across  the 
sky  and  blotted  out  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Kingsmount  had  gone  to  rest  for  the  most 
part.  Bob  Leonard's  house  was  uncannily 
quiet,  wrapped,  it  seemed,  in  a  death  slumber. 
Not  a  light  appeared  in  any  of  the  windows, 
not  a  sound  awoke  echoes  throughoutthe  large 
mansion.  All  appeared  heavily  asleep  ;  but 
two  women  were  wide  awake,  waiting, 
waiting,    each    for  the   hour    which    would 



bring  them  creeping  downstairs  for  a  purpose 
which  they  wished  no  one  else  to  know. 

In  her  room  Mrs.  Leonard,  fully  dressed, 
with  a  dark  veil  over  her  face,  her  hand  bag 
packed  with  all  her  valuables,  listened  for 
the  stone  at  her  window  which  Avas  to  warn 
her  that  her  lover  had  come  to  carry  her  oflf. 

Ella,  the  maid,  lay  awake  on  her  bed, 
clad  in  her  serving  garb,  tossing  uneasily 
from  side  to  side,  striving  to  think  a  way  out 
of  her  horrible  position.  To  betray  the 
man  who  had  been  kind  to  her  was  abhorrent, 
her  whole  being  recoiled  from  it,  but  some 
influence  held  her  on  the  course  she  had 
taken,  some  indescribable  sensation  which 
came  not  from  her  repulsion  or  her  fear, 
something  which  she  could  not  explain.  She 
might  just  sleep  and 
forget,  ignore  the 
men  who  would 
come  stealing  up 
to  the  house  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and 
brave  their  revenge. 
This  was  in  her 
heart  to  do.  Yet 
she  could  not  sleep 
—  that  intangible 
something  compel- 
led her  to  lie  there 
.awake  and  wait. 
Wearied  and  ner- 
vous from  the  med- 
ley of  unpleasant 
sensations  which 
swept  over  her,  she 
jumped  to  her  feet 
and  looked  at  the 
clock.  It  wanted 
five      minutes      to 

twelve  !  Her  confederates  —  the  gang 
she  hated  and  loathed — would  be  under  the 
window,  and  she  should  be  there  to  open 
the  way  for  their  vile  outrage.  For  a 
moment  she  hesitated  as  if  making  up  her 
mind,  then  she  moved  towards  the  door 
with  pale,  set  face.  Turning  the  handle 
silently  she  stepped  out  on  to  the  landing 
and  groped  her  way  slowly  towards  the 
stairs.  Down  she  crept,  now  and  then 
halting  to  listen  if  there  were  any  sounds  of 
movement  behind  her,  and  hearing  none, 
moved  on  again  till  she  reached  the  hall. 

A  spot  of  light  flashed  across  the  far-side 
window.  They  were  there !  She  knew 
they  would  be  at  the  window — had  it  not 
all  been  arranged.     Yet  that  spot  of  light 

Where  is  the 

gave  her  a  shock.  All  her  courage  ebbed 
out,  her  self-control  almost  broke  down,  and 
she  wrung  her  hands  in  dismay.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  dread  window;  the  dim 
outline  of  a  man's  face,  unrecognisable, 
showed  there,  and  then  a  hand,  seemingly 
from  nowhere,  beckoned  her  imperiously. 
Impelled  forward,  she  fumbled  with  the 
catch  and  noiselessly  raised  the  lower  portion 
of  the  window,  then  stood  back  as  three 
men  stealthily  clambered  through  and  into 
thp  hall. 

'  Where  is  the  safe,  girl  1 "  whispered  one, 
who  appeared  to  be  the  leader,  seizing  Ella's 
wrist.        Lead   us    to    it,    and   no    games." 
And  he  half  drew  a  revolver  from  his  pocket. 
Ella  shuddered,   and  pointing  across  the 
hall,  led  the  man  to 
the    small     private 
room     where     Bob 
Leonard     kept    his 
money.      The    two 
other  men  followed 
like    cats    into    the 
room,  neither  utter- 
ing a  word. 

"The  combina- 
tion, quick  ! "  asked 
the  leader,  giving 
the  girl's  wrist  a 
sharp  twist. 

The  pain  caused 
her  to  utter  a 
smothered  cry. 

"  None  of  that — 
the  combination  of 
the  safe  ;    sharp,  or 
it  will  be  worse  for 
safe,  girl  ?  "  you  !  " 

In  fear,  tlla  told 
him  under  her  breath,  giving  a  nervous 
glance  towards  the  stairs. 

"  Here,  take  this  gun  and  watch  while  we 
get  on  with  the  business,"  said  the  man, 
thrusting  his  revolver  into  Ella's  hands,  and 
leaving  her  on  guard. 

As  she  waited  a  slight  sound  reached  her 
ears.  Someone  was  descending  .the  stairs  ! 
She  turned  to  the  burglars  with  a  shsh  " 
of  alarm.  They  stopped  their  work  and 
waited  breathlessly. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  steps  came.  Ella, 
whose  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  saw  a  female  figure  come  round 
the  turning  and  begin  to  descend  the  lower 
flight.  A  gasp  of  surprise  almost  escaped 
her.     It  was   Mrs.    Leonard,  dressed  to   go 



out  and  carrying  a  bag ! 

The  burglars  huddled  back 

Mrs.  Leonard  dropped  her  bag 
gently  on  the  hall  table  and  went 
to  the  door.  Ella  breathed  again. 
Perhaps  her  mistress  was  going  out, 
and  if  so  the  intruders  could 
escape  before  they  were  detected. 
But  what  was  her  purpose  in  going 
out  at  this  time  of  night  1  Had 
she  some  clandestine  meeting — 
w^th  Romaine,  for  instance  !  The 
thought  flashed  through  Ella's  mud- 
dled brain  like  an  electric  flash. 
She  forgot  her  awkward  dilemma, 
andin  her  newly-awakened  curiosity 
crept  forward  a  little.  Still  she 
could  not  see  her  mistress,  but  slic 
heard  the  bolt  softly  slip  back  and 
the  door  gently  open.  A  whisper 
from  Mrs.  Leonard  reached  the  keen 
listening  ears  : 

"  Wilbert,  Wilbert,  are  you 
there  1 " 

A  curse  escaped  the  chief  burglar 
as  a  man's  voice  answered  in  a 
guarded  undertone  : 

"  V^es,  I  am  here.  Are  you  ready, 
darling  ?  The  car  is  waiting.  Let 
us  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  Wilbert,    I  am   ready   to 
go,    to  go   anywhere   with  you,  dear ;    but 
come  in    one    minute — softly — I    must  see 
your  face  once." 

Oh,  that  inconsequence  of  woman,  even  in 
the  most  desperate  situation  !  Here  was  a 
pair  of  would-be  runaways,  each  a  social 
criminal,  whose  safety  depended  on  their 
rapid  flight,  walking  into  the  danger  of 
discovery  at  any  moment  simply  for  a 
woman's  whim. 

The  man  entered  and  took  the  woman  in 
his  arms.  They  lingered  a  moment,  and 
Lydia,  breaking  away  and  becoming  very 
serious,  whispered  : 

"  My  bag,  Wilbert ;  bring  it,  please  ;  it 
is  on  the  table — but  careful  ! " 

Ella  saw  the  pair  now  as  they  came,  a 
blurred  mass  in  the  darkness,  to  the  centre 
of  the  hall.  Motioning  to  the  men  behind 
her  to  get  back  into  hiding,  she  crouched 
down  beside  the  head  of  the  stairs,  her 
heart  throbbing  with  rage.  She  felt  at  this 
moment  something  more  than  regard  for 
her  master;  and  his  betrayal,  the  first  act 
of  which  was  being  enacted  before  her  very 

The  strong,  rough  man  and  the  frail  serving  girl 
understood  each  other." 

eyes,  emboldened  her,  and  filled  her  with 
almost  uncontrollable  anger.  She  could 
have  sprung  forward  and  denounced  the 
pair,  particularly  Wilbert  Romaine,  the  man 
who  had  insulted  her,  and  whom  she  hated. 
Yet  she  held  herself  in  check  and  waited, 
her  finger  itching  at  the  trigger  of  the 
revolver  she  still  held  in  her  hand.  Her 
mind  worked  rapidly.  To  denounce  the 
pair  would  be  to  arouse  the  household,  and 
bring  about  the  discovery  of  the  nefarious 
work  she  and  her  confederates  were  engaged 
in.  But  her  master  must  be  saved  the 
disgrace  about  to  fall  on  him.  For  her 
mistress  she  did  not  care — if  her  mad  action 
would  recoil  merely  on  her  nothing  would 
matter  much.  It  would  not  besmirch  her 
name  alone,  however — Bob  Leonard  would 
feel  the  disgrace  also.  He  must  be  spared. 
Ella,  crouching  by  the  stair  head,  hei-  eyes 
ablaze,  had  the  feelings  of  a  tiger-cat  defend- 
ing her  young.  She  would  shoot,  as  a  last 
resource,  the  man  who  would  injure  her 
master,  and  seek  whatever  escape  from  the 
penalty  of    the   crime    that    might   present 



itself  when  the  critical  moment  arrived. 

Wilbert  Romaine  had  reached  the  table 
and  his  hand  was  groping  for  the  bag. 

"  Where  is " 

Those  were  the  last  words  he  uttered  ; 
a  revolver  shot  cut  the  sentence  short.  A 
strangled  scream,  and  the  thud  of  a  falling 
body,  told  that  the  bullet  had  taken  effect. 
And  Ella  gazed  at  the  still  smoking  weapon 
in  her  hand,  dimly  realising  that  she  had 
pulled  the  trigger  and  the  consequences 

The  report  of  the  revolver  created  con- 
sternation amongst  the  intruders  who  had 
come  to  steal.  Ella,  recovering  her  self- 
possession,  lan  to  them,  urging  them  to 
remain  in  hiding.  Bob  Leonard,  aroused 
from  his  sleep,  threw  on  a  dressing-gown 
and  dashed  down  the  stairs.  At  the  same 
moment  a  policeman  from  the  beat  outside 
the  house  rushed  in  through  the  open  door. 
When  the  light  was  switched  on  by  the 
master  of  the  house  a  strange  sight  met  his 
gaze.  Lying  dead  acioss  the  table  was 
AVilbert  Romaine  ;  at  his  side  and  bending 
over  him  a  policeman  ;  shrinking  away  from 
the  body,  horror-stricken,  was  Lydia  ;  while 
little  Ella,  the  revolver  still  clutched  fast, 
came  creeping  out  of  her  hiding  place. 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke. 
Is   he  dead,   officer'?"   at  last  Leonard 

Yes,  sir,  quite  dead — instantaneous,  I 
should  say,"  replied  the  officer.  "  Have 
you  any  idea  of  how  it  was  done  "?  " 


"And  the  lady,  sir." 

Leonard  threw  a  withering  glance  at  his 
wife.  She  dropped  her  eyes  in  shame.  Filled 
with  horror  and  grief  at  the  tragic  death  of 
her  lover,  she  ( ould  utter  no  word. 

Another  police  officer  joined  the  little 

Please 1  shcithiin.     I  heard  a  noise, 

and  thinking  it  was  a  thief,  I  fir-ed."  It 
was  Ella  IJall,  half-shy,  half-brazen,  who 

"  You,  gill !  "  cried  Leonard. 
Yes,  sir  ;   I — I  could   not  sleep.      I  laid 
awake,  and  hearing  a  noise  in  the  hall  I  took 
the  r^evolverand  ciur.edowri.     Seeing  a  dark 

form  in  the  hall,  I  fired." 

Leonard  looked  deep  into  the  girl's  eyes 
for  a  moment,  and  he  fancied  he  read  some- 
thing else  there — the  mute  look  of  devotion 
told  him  more  than  the  words.  Turning  to 
the  police  officers  who  had  been  making 
notes,  he  said  : 

"Carry  the  body  to  that  ante-room  and 
lock  the  door."  Fortunately  he  intimated 
a  room  on  the  opposite  side  from  where  the 
burglars  were  crouching  in  fright.  '  It  is  a 
ease  of  misadventure,  which  I  can  explain. 
You  can  report  to  your  superiors,"  he  con- 
tinued, "and  I  shall  see  that  no  one  leaves 
the  house  till  the  morning." 

The  officers  carried  out  his  instructions, 
for  Leonard,  as  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  was 
a  man  to  be  obeyed.  When- they  had  re- 
moved the  body  and  left  the  house  the 
master  bolted  the  door  carefully  and  pre- 
pared to  return  upstairs.  For  a  moment 
he  paused  and  glared  at  his  wife,  who  stood 
like  as  one  turned  to  stone.  With  a  savage 
gesture  he  cast  her  off  from  him,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  little  girl  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
he  threw  her  a  glance  which  repaid  her  for 
her  great  sacrifice.  The  two,  the  strong 
rough  man  and  the  frail  serving  girl,  under- 
stood each  other. 

When  the  hall  was  clear  Ella  switched 
out  the  light,  and  going  to  her  late  confeder- 
ates— for  she  had  finished  with  the  gang — 
ordered  them  quickly  from  the  house. 

"  Not  until  we  have  something  for  our 
trouble,"  hissed  the  leader. 

"  There  are  five  chambers  still  unfired," 
said  Ella  suggestively,  "  and  if  you  do  not 
hurry  I  shall  use  the  revolver  again." 

The  men  knew  she  meant  it ;  they  felt 
that  as  she  had  not  hesitated  to  tire  in  the 
first  instance,  so  she  would  scarcely  have 
much  compunction  to  do  so  again — and  they 
hurried  out. 

Not  until  then  did  the  brave  girl  give 
way,  and  dropping  the  revolver  on  to  the 
table  from  her  trembling  hands  she  dragged 
her  weary  body,  shaken  by  dry  sobs  of 
physical  and  mental  relief,  up  to  her  own 
room  to  sleep  off  the  horror  of  that  night  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

It  was  a  new  woman  who  awoke  next 
morning — a  woman  into  whose  heart  the 
light  of  love  had  come. 

The  Scales  of  Justice. 

Adapted  from  the  FAMOUS  PLAYERS  Film  hij  Wm.  Orchard. 

A  woman  is  wrongfully  accused  of  murder,  and  the  warrant 
for  her  arrest  must  be  signed  by  her  lover,  a  District 
Attorney,  who  is  called  upon  to  prosecute.  He  throws  up 
the  case,  and  then  comes  the  final  scene  when  the  real 
murderer  is    denounced    in  court   as    he  tries    to    escape. 


Robert  Darrow 



Frank  Dexter  ... 

Walter  Elliott ... 

Old  Russell      .. 

PAUL  McAllister 


|ES,  this  is  the  eternal  story  of 
two  men  and  a  woman,  with 
its  tale  of  disaster  to  each  of 
the  parties. 

It     began     when      Robert 

Darrow  resigned  his  position 
as  junior  partner  in  the  city  firm  to  take  up 
the  post  of  District  Attorney  of  Russellville. 
It  was  a  great  rise  in  the  world  for  the  clever 
young  lawyer,  and  his  many  friends  admitted 
that  he  deserved  his  success.  Those  who 
witnessed  the  installation  ceremony — for 
Darrow's  district  in  the  United  States 
covered  an  area  about  the  size  of  Wales — 
never  forgot  it.  Thousands  of  people  lined 
the  streets  and  cheered  the  District  Attorney 
on  his  way  to  the  Court  House,  where  he 
took  the  oath  to  dispense  justice  and  punish 
wrongdoers  without  fear  or  favour.  Then 
there  was  a  reception  in  the  evening,  and 
Robert  Darrow  received  the  congratulations 
of  his  friends  and  acquaintances.  Darrow's 
head  was  quite  unturned  by  all  this  success, 
but  the  words  of  congratulation  he  prized 
most  of  all  in  the  great  throng  were  those 
of  a  woman. 

Edith  Dexter  had  known  the  young  lawyer 
before  he  became  the  District  Attorney  of 
Russellville,  for  he  had  acted  the  part 
of  peacemaker  between  the  young  widow 
and  her  grandfather,  Phillip  Russell,  the 
biggest  landowner  in  Russellville.  Five  years 
previoiisly  Edith,  as  a  girl  of  eighteen,  had 
foolishly  wedded  a  young  man  whose  taste  for 
alcohol  had  furnished  her  grandfather  with 
a  legitimate  excuse  when  he  forbade  her  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  Frank  Dexter.  Old 
Russell  had  a  more  eligible  match  in  his  eye 

for  Edith — his  protege,  Walter  Elliott,  who 
was  his  right-hand  man  in  the  office  and  the  son 
of  an  old  and  esteemed  friend.  1  Idith  had 
refused  this  young  man  and  married  Dexter, 
with  the  result  that  her  grandfather  had 
disowned  and  disinherited  her. 

A  fatal  accident  had  cut  short  Dexter's 
career  about  four  years  later,  and  Edith 
found  herself  a  widow  with  her  little 
daughter  Alice,  and  nothing  but  destitution 
staring  her  in  the  face.  She  had  had  a  few 
business  dealings  with  Darrow  and,  hardly 
knowing  why,  she  had  poured  her  troubles 
into  the  ears  of  the  young  lawyer. 

Darrow  promised  to  help  her  and  sought 
an  interview  with  Edith's  grandfather.  He 
pleaded  her  cause  eloquently,  and  at  the 
dramatic  moment  ushered  in  Edith  and  her 
child.  Even  then  things  would  have  been 
doubtful  were  it  not  for  the  diplomatic 
intervention  of  little  Alice,  who  climbed  on 
a  chair  and  patted  her  grandfather's  face 
caressingly.  The  grim  old  countenance 
relaxed,  and  Darrow  retired,  knowing  that 
he  had  won. 

*  *  * 

"  Mr.  Russell,"  said  Elliott  unhesitatingly, 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on  the  subject  of 
Edith.     Perhaps  you  have  noticed " 

'  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  old  man  warmly. 
"  I  have  noticed,  too.  Remember,  my  boy, 
it  is  my  dearest  wish  that  you  marry 
Edith  and  share  the  fortune  I  shall  leave  her. 
I  know  that  Darrow  calls  too  often,  and  I'll 
speak  to  Edith  to-night." 

The  young  man  retired  with  an  anxious 
face.  He  had  good  reason  for  his  anxiety 
to  marry  Edith  as  quick  as  he  could,  for  he 



"A  long,  lean  arm  grasping|a^knife." 

knew  that  his  resources  were  at  a  low  ebb 
and  his  credit  worthless.  Unknown  to  his 
benefactor,  he  frequented  night  clubs,  where 
he  lost  more  money  than  he  could  possibly 
earn.  He  had  to  raise  it  somehow,  and  he 
had  helped  himself  liberally  to  the  contents  of 
the  safe.  Old  Russell  had  discovered  the 
first  of  the  deficits  from  his  books,  but  never 
suspected  the  real  culprit.  In  his  anxiety 
for  expert  help  he  telephoned  to  a  friend,  a 
chartered  accountant. 

"Is  that  Walcott  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

I  believe  one  of  the  clerks  is  robbing  me. 
I  can't  tell  Elliott — he's  too  sympathetic. 
I  want  you  to  go  over  the  books  with  me  at 
my  own  home,  as  it  is  too  infernally  hot  here 
in  the  office.  You  can  come  over  to  my 
house  this  evening.     Thank  you." 

The  old  man  went  home — taking  the 
account  books  with  him — and  prepared  a 
table  on  the  verandah  where  he  and  his 
friend  could  work  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 
Outside  the  verandah  was  a  thick  clump 
of  bushes,  and  beyond  this  again  was  the 
beautifully  laid  out  garden  in  which  Russell 
delighted  to  entertain  his  guests. 

This  evening  the  visitors  included  a  group 
of  intimate  friends  :  the  wife  of  old  Walcott, 
Darrow,  and  sevei-al  of  Edith's  friends. 
Russell  looked  anything  but  pleased  when 
he  saw  the  marked  attention  that  Darrow 
paid  to  Edith,  and  when  the  lawyer  left  her 
to  speak  to  another  party  the  old  man  went 
over  to  his  granddaughter. 

"  Edith,  I  want  you  to  keep  your  party 
away  from  the  verandah  to-night.  I'll  be  busy 

with  Walcott,  and,"  continued  old 
Russell  with  emphasis,  "  stop  en- 
couraging that  Darrow.  You're 
going  to  marry  Elliott." 

If  Edith  had  made  a  mistake  in 
marrying  Frank  Dexter  she  was 
under  no  illusions  regarding 
Elliott.  She  cordially  detested 
that  young  man,  and  her  grand- 
father's repeated  reproaches  worked 
the  young  woman  into  a  paroxysm 
of  temper. 

I  shan't  marry  him,"  she  burst 

You  shall,"  retorted  her  grand- 
father, getting  angry  in  his  turn, 
and  placing  his  hand  threateningly 
on  his  granddaughter's  shoulder. 
You  made  a  matrimonial  mistake 
before,  and  I  must  see  that  you  do 
not  make  another." 

"  I  hate  and  despise  Elliott," 
replied  Edith,  passionately.  "Sooner  than 
be  his  wife,  I'd  kill  myself  with  this" — this 
proved  to  be  a  knife  which  the  angry  young 
woman  pulled  from  her  bosom. 

The  old  man  turned  away  rather  pained. 

You  should  not  carry  knives  about  you 

like  that,"  he  remarked   coldly.     "  I   hope 

you    will,  please,  put  it  away  on   the  first 


Two  people  witnessed  this  painful  scene 
from  a  distance,  one  being  old  Walcott's 
wife,  and  the  other  Elliott.  Mrs.  Walcott 
was  frankly  scandalised,  but  Elliott  retired 
with  a  grim  sn\ile  on  his  face. 

That  young  man  was  very  uneasy.  In 
the  first  place,  he  knew  why  Walcott  was 
summoned  to  the  house,  and  the  culprit, 
wishing  to  try  and  cover  his  defalcations, 
crept  to  the  table  on  which  the  books  were 
lying,  and  taking  out  his  penknife  manipu- 
lated a  few  entries  in  the  day  book.  He 
had  just  finished  this  little  job  to  his  satis- 
faction when  he  looked  up  to  find  the 
horrified  face  of  old  Russell  gazing  into  his. 
Phillip  Russell  dropped  into  his  chair 
with  a  groan.  It  was  a  bitter  disillusion- 

'  You  are  the  thief  who  has  been  robbing 
me,  your  benefactor." 

There  was  no  reply,  for  Elliott  retired 
with  ashen  face  and  bitter  hate  in  his  heart. 
The  old  man,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand, 
gave  himself  up  to  his  grey  thoughts.  There 
was  no  need  now  to  look  for  the  thief — he 
had  caught  him  red-handed,  and  nothing 
remained  but  to  find  out  the  extent  of  the 



losses.  In  his  pre-occupation  he  did  not 
hear  the  rustle  of  the  bushes  behind  him, 
nor  see  a  long  lean  arm  grasping  a  knife 
hovering  at  his  side.  The  ghostly  hand  was 
rigid  for  a  moment,  then  plunged  sideways 
and  old  Russell  fell  forward  with  a  groan. 

He  managed  to  stagger  to  his  feet  and 
totter  round  to  the  side  door  to  call  for 
assistance.  Here  his  strength  failed  him, 
and  he  collapsed  on  the  steps  just  as  several 
of  the  horrified  guests  ran  towards  him. 
But  their  assistance  was  too  late.  Old 
Russell  was  dead. 

There  was  an  excited  gathering  round  the 
old  man's  body,  and  Darrow,  who  had 
rushed  up  to  render  assistance,  said  sternly  : 

"  Who  could  have  done  this  deed  ? " 

Elliott,  who  had  just  joined  the  throng, 
turned  to  the  District  Attorney  as  he  pointed 
to  Edith. 

"  I  believe  she  murdered  Mr.  Russell,  and 
still  has  the  knife  on  her  person.  You  have 
the  authority — search  her." 

For  a  second  there  was  a  deep  silence  as 
the  throng  looked  on  the  working  face  of 
Edith.  '  I  did  not  do  it,"  she  gasped.  "  How 
could  you  1 " 

The  District  Attorney  looked  at  her  for  a 
moment.  The  charge  having  been  deliber- 
ately made,  he  had  no  option  but  to  search 
her.  He  moved  forward  as  in  a  dream. 
Permit  me,"  he  said,  drawing  Edith 
towards  the  shelter 
of  the  doorway. 

He  emerged  agaiu 
a  few  minutes  later 
with  a  strange  fixed 
look  on  his  face. 

You     are    mis- 
taken,"     he      said, 
turning  to  Elliott ; 
she  has  no  knife." 

But  ten  minutes 
later,  when  in  a 
secluded  part  of  the 
garden  he  took  out 
of  his  pocket  the 
knife  he  had  taken 
from  Edith,  there 
was  a  bitter  look 
on  his  face  as  he 
murmured  : 

And  you,  Robert 
Darrow, promised  to 
dispense  justice 
without  fear  or 
favour.        You 

promised    to    hold    the    scales    of    justice 

It  was  not  that  Darrow  l)elieved  that 
Edith  had  killed  her  grandfather  ;  he  was 
convinced  there  was  some  ghastly  mistake, 
but  as  a  lawyer  he  knew  the  damning  effect 
which  the  possession  of  a  knife  on  such  an 
occasion  and  the  previous  quarrel  would 
have  on  any  matter-of-fact  judge  and  jury. 
Yet  there  was  a  mystery  somewhere  ;  and 
although  a  horse-stealer  named  Crump,  who 
had  been  arrested  in  the  grounds,  was 
charged  with  the  murder  of  Phillip  Russell, 
this  chaige  fell  through  for  want  of  evidence, 
and  Crump  was  then  charged  with  a  previous 
offence  of  horse  steahng  and  sent  to  prison. 
Yet  Crump  could  have  told  a  great  deal 
al  out  the  murder  of  old  Russell,  but  fear 
held  his  tongue  silent. 

There  was  still  an  atmosphere  of  suspicion 
about  Edith  which  was  carefully  fo-tered  by 
Elliott,  who  had  also  introduced  a  private 
detective  into  the  house  in  the  guise  of  one 
of  his  friends.  This  individual  followed  up 
every  clue ;  and  one  day  during  Edith's 
absence  he  ransacked  the  young  woman's 
wardrobe  and  came  across  a  gown  with  a 
piece  of  the  neck  torn  away.  This  he 
fetched  to  Elliott,  who  on  seeing  it  immedi- 
ately proiiuced  the  missing  piece. 

'  I  found  this  in  old  Russell's  hand  after 

She  has  a  knite.     Search  her,'  cried  Elliott." 



he  was  stabbed,"  said  the  young  ruffian. 

The  detective  snapped  at  it,  and  as  he 
■conipaied  it  with  the  rent,  a  smile  of  triumph 
spread  over  his  face.  "  There's  no  doubt 
about  the  guilt  of  this  woman.  If  we  only 
found  the  knife  the  case  would  be  complete. 
I'm  going  to  apply  for  a  warrant  for  her 

Meanwhile  Darrow  had  sought  out  Edith 
and  begged  her  to  tell  him  all  she  knew 
about  the  matter. 

"  I    don't    know,"    replied     the     young 
woman  tearfully. 
'There    is    a 
teirible     niistake 

I  know  there 
is  some  terrible 
mistake,"  replied 
Dairow  ;  then  a 
note  of  tender- 
ness crept  into  his 
voice  as  he  added, 
marry  me,  and 
we  will  fight  it 
out  together." 

"JS'o,  no,"  re- 
plied Edith 
quickly.  "Elliott 
and  others  still 
suspect  me.  I 
will  not  marry 
you  with  this 
stain  on  my 

Darrow  sighed. 
'  I'm  coming  over 
this  evening,"  he 
said.  "  You  must 
try  and  remem- 
ber everything 
that  happened  on 
that  dreadful 
night,  and  we  can 
perhaps  straighten  out  the  tangle." 

But     on    his   return    visit   that 
Darrow  experienced  a  surprise. 

He  was  met  in  the  garden  by  the  detective 
and  Elliott,  and  the  former  in  his  quick  way 
said  : 

Mr.  Darrow,  I've  prepared  a  formal 
application  for  the  arrest  of  Mrs.  Edith 
Dexter — will  you  sign  it?" 

I  hope  your  evidence  is  correct,"  said 
the  District  Attorney  coldly. 

Yes,   it   is,"  replied  the  other  rapidly. 

Here's  a  piece  of  cloth,  torn  from  her  gown. 

"  Marry  me,  and  we  will  fight  it  out  together." 


found  in  the  old  man's  hand.  Of  course  I'd 
like  to  wait  till  I've  found  the  knife,  but 
there's  no  time  to  waste — she  knows  I'm 
wise,  and  is  getting  ready  to  leave  now." 

"Impossible,"  replied  Darrow,  sharply. 
"  She  has  an  appointment  with  me." 

"Perhaps,"  retorted  the  other;  "but  if 
you  don't  believe  me,  you  can  see  with  your 
own  eyes.     She  is  coming  along." 

It  was  true.  Edith,  dressed,  carrying  her 
travelling  case  and  pulling  her  little 
daughter,    Alice,    along    with    her    in     an 

agitated  manner, 
suddenly  con- 
fronted them. 
She  started  and 
looked  confused. 
"There  you 
are,"  said  the 
detective;  '  now 
will  you  sign  the 
warrant  1 " 

Darrow  took 
the  fateful  piece 
of  paper  in  his 
hand,  well  aware 
that  Elliott's  eyes 
were  searching 
his  with  cynical 
curiosity.  There 
was  silence  for  a 
moment,  broken 
only  by  the  deep 
breathing  of  the 
captured  woman. 
Then  Darrow 
took  a  fountain 
pen  from  his 
pocket  and  signed 
the  warrant. 

The  arrest 
aroused  enormous 
interest,  and 
what  wounded 
Darrow  more  than  anything  was  the  state- 
ment by  the  local  paper  that  he,  being 
District  Attorney,  would  have  to  prosecute 
for  the  State.  "  Kobert  Darrow,  popular 
young  District  Attorney,  conducts  his  first 
murder  case  to-morro^Y,"  ran  the  wounding 
paragraph.  But  it  was  true,  and  Darrow 
passed  many  weary  hours  wondering  how  he 
could  shield  the  woman  he  loved  and  yet  be 
true  to  his  oath. 

He  paid  several  visits  to  the  prison  to  see 
Edith,  who,  as  a  privilege,  was  allowed  to 
see     little    Alice   for    an    hour    each    day. 



The  child  brought  sunshine  to  more  than 
her  aching  mother's  heart,  for  further  down 
the  white- washed  passage  was  another 
prisoner  who  never  seemed  tired  of  watching 
the  little  visitor.  Several  times  Crump  — 
for  it  was  he — allowed  a  smile  to  spread 
over  his  grim  face  when  Alice  proffered  him 
flowers  between  the  liars  of  his  cell  ;  and 
one  day,  when  the  visitor  had  departed. 
Crump  sank  back  on  his  rough  bench  with  a 
sigh,  murmuiing,  "If  I  had  a  kid  like  that 
to  love,  I'd  never  have  been  here." 

judge,  I  cannot  prosecute  this  woman. 
Despite  the  strong  circumstantial  evidence 
against  her,  I  believe  her  innocent,  and  I 
hereby  resign  my  office  as  District  Attorney." 

There  was  a  murmur  liehind.  "  Lunatic," 
whispered  one.  "Fool,"  said  another,  but 
again  there  was  a  dramatic  interruption.  A 
child's  feet  pattered  up  along  the  benches. 
It  was  Alice,  wildly  excited,  and  waving  a 
piece   of  paper  in   her  hand. 

"It's  for  the  judge,"  called  out  the  little 

He  made  a  wild  dash  for  liberty." 

The  morning  of  the  trial  arrived,  and 
Edith  was  put  into  the  dock.  Then  came 
the  witnesses  who  saw  the  painful  scene 
between  Edith  and  her  grandfather  in  the 
garden.  It  seemed  a  clear  case,  and  every- 
body was  settling  down  to  a  verdict  of 
guilty  when  the  District  Attorney  rose  to 
his  feet.  Everybody  expected  the  usual 
appeal  to  convict  the  prisoner,  but  when  he 
did  speak  those  in  court  could  hardly  credit 
the  evidence  of  their  ears. 

'  Your  honour,"  he  said,  addressing  the 

The  paper  was  taken  from  the  child's 
hand  and  given  to  the  judge,  who  read  the 
contents  aloud  : 

I  seen  the  murder  of  old  Philip 
Russell  and  the  kid's  mother  is  innocent. 
I  was  skeered  to  tell  before  bekus  the 
man  who  did  the  job  said  he  would  put 
the  blame  on  me  and  his  word  would 
go  further  than  mine. 

Bill  Crump." 
"Where  is  this  Bill  Crump?"  asked  the 
judge,  looking  around. 



Almost,  as  if  in  reply  to  the  question,  the 
horse-thief  was  ushered  in  between  two 
guards.  He  was  immediately  sworn,  and 
asked  to  tell  what  he  knew.  Crump 
possessed  a  rough  eloquence  of  liis  own,  and 
he  graphically  described  the  scenes  of  the 
murder  of  old  Russell,  as  seen  from  his 
hiding-place  in  the  bush. 

'And  who  is  the  murderer  1  '  asked  the 
judge  at  the  conclusion  of  the  horse-thief's 

"  lie  is  here  !  "  replied  Crump,  turning 
his  eye  on  the  people  around. 

Point  him  out,"  commanded   the  judge 

Crump's  arm  shot  out  with  sudden  force 
and  an  accusing  finger  pointed  to  the  ashen- 
faced  Elliott. 

'  There  I  " 

The  cowering  man  rose  to  his  feet  and 
made  a  wild  dash  for  liberty.  But  he  had 
only  got  a  few  yards  when  restraining  arms 
were  thrown  round  him.  He  spent  that 
night  in  Edith's  cell. 

*  +  * 

Several  weeks  later  no  one  would  have 
recognised  in  the  happy  wedded  couple  who 
left  the  church  the  haggard-faced  pair  of 
three  weeks  back.  Edith's  only  regret  was 
the  resignation  of  her  husband's  great 
position,  and  she  told  him  so. 

"  You  sacrificed  too  much  for  me." 
No,"  replied  her  husband.       'You  taught 
me  a  greater  truth  than  I   could  find   in  all 
my  law  books.     And  the  greatest  of  these 
is  love." 

"P  UTH  STONEHOUSE  was  to  jump  from  a 
-'-*  cliff'  in  one  of  Essanay's  pictures,  "Sun- 
bonnet  Strings,"  which  is  to  be  released  in 
the  near  future,  and  Richard  Travers  was  to 
catch  her  in  his  arms.  Ruth  jumped,  but  she 
came  down  much  faster  than  Travers  calculated, 
and  as  a  result  they  both  went  tumbling  down  the 
hill.  She  struck  Travers'  bruised  shoulder,  which 
he  received  in  an  automobile  accident  recently, 
and  he  was  unable  to  withstand  the  weight. 
The  camera  man  kept  on  grinding  when  he  saw 
the  pair  rolling  down  the  hill,  so  has  a  rare  piece 
of  negative.  Ruth  was  buried  in  gravel  up  to 
her  waist  when  she  finally  stopped  rolling,  and 
Travers  kept  on  going  until  he  was  almost  in  the 
lake.     They  both  escaped  without  serious  injury. 

Tj'RANCIS  X.  BUSHMAN  is  an  enthusiastic 
-*-  bird  fancier,  and  at  the  present  time  has  a 
collection  of  more  than  two  hundred 
feathered  songsters.  Mr.  Bushman  spends  much 
of  his  leisure  among  the  birds,  and  is  constantly 
acquiring  new  specimens.  Many  of  his  friends 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  send  him  birds,  and 
he  is  declared  to  possess  one  of  the  best  collec- 
tions to  be  seen  outside  a  "  zoo."  By  the  way, 
he  still  clings  to  his  1910  little  white  straw  hat, 
and  wears  it  around  the  studio  between  scenes, 
although  plenty  of  "millinery"  is  at  his 
command  in  his  dressing  room. 

/^  M.  ANDERSON,  the  famous  "Broncho 
^^  •  Billy,"  had  a  narrow  escape  in  a  most 
hazardous  ad  venture  which  nearly  resulted 
in  the  loss  of  two  lives.  He  had  tried  to  save 
the  life  of  Marguerite  Clayton,  who  was  tied 
securely  to  a  broncho  which  broke  away  from  a 
hitching  "post  and  dashed  for  dear  life  down  the 

mountain  trail.  Anderson  mounted  his  calicO' 
pony  and  started  in  pursuit.  For  miles  the  two 
horses  went  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them, 
until  Anderson  finally  caught  the  bridle  of  the 
runaway  horse  and  brought  him  to  an  abrupt 
stop,  throwing  the  horse,  Anderson  and  Miss 
Clayton  on  to  the  rocky  road.  Both  were  pain-^ 
fully  injured,  but  were  able  to  continue  work  in 
a  few  days.  Mr.  Anderson  has  written  a  scenario 
around  this  wild  ride,  and  entitled  the  picture,. 
"  Broncho  Billy's  Wild  Ride." 

-'-^  daughters  of  Maurice  Costello,  are  already 
following  in  their  father's  footsteps  and 
taking  to  picture  acting.  Quite  apart  from  the 
reflected  talent  of  their  distinguished  parent, 
thej'  are  really  clever  little  actresses.  Such 
scenes  as  they  already  appear  in  are  taken  after 
school  is  over,  but  they  will  soon  abandon  school 
life  for  they  are  going  on  a  world  tour  with  the 
Vitagraph  Co.  Thej'  are  both  fearless  of  the 
water,  though  non-swimmers,  and  both  of  them 
possess  boy's  bikes,  being  daring  riders.  In  their 
magnificent  home  at  Flatbush  they  get  all  the 
benefits  of  country  life,  and  ai-e  the  adoration  of 
their  parents.  Dolores  (the  one  most  like  her 
father)  is  eight,  and  Helen,  who  resembles  Mrs. 
Costello,  five  years  old.  We  are  sure  our  readeis 
Mill  be  pleased  to  see  in  our  present  supplement 
the  portraits  of  these  handsome  and  talented 

MARY  FULLER,  the  particular  bright  star 
of    the  Edison    Company's  constellation, 
says  she  is  not  going  to  marry  a  meml  er 
of   the   companj'— or   anyone   else,    in    fact,   at 

Through  Flames  to 


Adapted  hij  Given  Garth  from  the  DANMARK  Film  Drama, 

A  tale  of  dogged  perseverance  that  from  threatened  poverty, 
by  strenuous  effort,  wins  through  to  honour  and  reward. 
Malice  and  vengeance  are  ranged  against  the  hero,  and 
elements  themselves  conspire  to  his  defeat,  but  he  triumphs 
in  the  end,  aided  by  the  bravery  and  devotion  of  a  woman 
whose  sympathy  he  had  awakened. 


The  Lighthouse  Keeper 
Miller  and   Innkeeper  ... 
The  Girl  of  the   Lighthouse 
A  Farmer 

His  Wife        

Tom,  their   only   Son    ... 

VERY  emigrant  sets  out  to  the 
new  world  with  the  hope  in  his 
heart  that  riches  will  be  easy 
to  acquire  and  that  the  path  of 
life  will  be  thereafter  ever 
smooth.  Many  fail  to  realise 
their  hopes.  Anticipation  is  not  backed  up 
by  determination,  and  they  find  that  it  is  the 
same  old  struggle  all  the  world  over,  and 
success  comes  only  to  him  who  sets  out  not 
only  with  desire  but  with  resolute  intention, 
determined,  whatever  obstacles  fall  across  his 
path,  to  surmount  them  and  fight  onward  till 
his  aim  is  achieved. 

Tom  Milton  left  home  for  America  carrying 
a  vision  of  a  cosy  old  farm  tucked  away  in  a 
sublime  valley,  where  mother  and  father,  both 
aged  and  incapable  of  much  further  effort, 
clung  to  their  home  with  that  superb  tenacity 
which  is  characteristic  of  those  born  and  l)red 
on  the  land  and  of  the  land.  Things  had 
been  going  bad.  A  couple  of  years  and  the 
further  struggle  would  be  impossible  for  the 
old  people.  Tom  decided  on  a  bold  course 
— a  bold  bid  to  ensure  his  parents'  comfort 
in  their  old  age — and  on  landing  in  the  new 
world  across  the  ocean  he  set  about  realising 
his  desires  with  such  assiduousness  that  spells 

After  trying  one  or  two  things  Tom  at  last 
found  work  which  suited  his  temperament 
and  promised  advantage.  He  entered  the 
customs  service  and  was  entrusted,  with 
others,  the  work  of  detecting  and  preventing 

Mr.  P.  S.  ANDERSEN 
Mr.  CH.  L(|)WAAS 

smuggling,  which  was  so  common  some  years 
back  on  America's  coasts.  As  the  months 
passed  Tom's  work  brought  him  to  the  notice 
of  his  superiors.  Once  or  twice  he  was 
entrusted  with  small  special  missions,  which 
he  carried  through  satisfactorily,  and  perhaps 
it  was  natural  that  he  should  be  oflFered  a 
chance  on  the  difficult  task  which  now 
presented  itself  to  the  officials. 

Off  duty  one  day,  Tom.  was  suddenly 
called  to  his  chief's  office  to  receive  orders. 
Scenting  a  special  '  job  "  he  presented  him- 
self at  the  desk  with  alacrity. 

"  You  have  done  very  well,  Milton,  since  you 
have  been  attached  to  us,"  said  the  chief, 
looking  up  at  the  lithe  figure  and  eager  face 
before  him ;  and  I  intend  to  give  you  a 
chance  on  a  private  mission,  which,  if 
successful,  will  be  advantageous  to  you." 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  shall  be  most  wilh'ng  to  under- 
take any  task.  I  am  sure  I  shall  do  my  best 
to  carry  it  out  successfully,"  i-eplied  Tom, 
beaming  all  over  his  face  at  the  idea  of  his 

"  I  know  you  will,  I  know  you  will  do 
your  best,  Milton,"  responded  the  chief;  "but 
I  must  warn  you  it  is  no  light  task,  and 
there  may  possibly  be  a  grave  element  of  risk 
about  it." 

"  So  much  the  better,  sir.  I  shall  be 
the  more  anxious  to  work  cautiously." 

"  Yes,  you  will  have  to  be  most  cautious. 
If  the  people  you  will  have  to  run  down  get 
wind  of  your  mission,  the  game,  from  our 



"  In  the  dusk  he  followed  him  to  the  old  Mill." 

point  of  view,  is  lost,  and  it  may  be  you  will 
suffer  at  their  hands.  By  all  accounts,  that 
is  judging  by  their  actions,  they  are  dangerous 

"  I  am  ready  for  the  work,  sir." 

Tom's  eagerness  caused  a  flicker  of  a  smile 
to  run  across  the  chief's  features. 

'  Well,  let  me  explain  the  position.  We 
have  been  aware  that  dynamite  is  being 
smuggled  into  the  country  along  the  coast 
around  here,  but  where  and  how  we  have  not 
the  faintest  idea.  We  know  it  is  going  on — 
and  on  a  fairly  extensive  scale,  but  our 
suspicions  lead  us  nowhere.  Men  who  will 
smuggle  dynamite  are  men  who  will  be 
dangerous,  and  headquarters  realising  this 
is  a  one-man  job,  and  a  serious  one,  have 
offered  a  big  reward  to  the  man  who  can  trap 
the  smugglers.  The  reward  is  3,000  dollars. 
It  is  worth  trying  for." 

Three  thousand  dollars  !  "  ejaculated 
Tom,  his  mind  calling  up  a  vision  of  his  old 

'  Yes,  that  is  the  reward.  If  you  bring 
the  smugglers  to  book  it  is  yours.  Do  you 
think  you  can  manage  the  mission  1" 

If  it  is  possible  to  track  them  down,  I 
will  do  it,  sir,"  cried  Tom  confidently. 

'  All  right,  then,  hereareyourinstructions," 
handing  the  revenue  man  a  paper.  "  Adopt 
what  course  you  like,  but  keep  in  close  touch 
with  n.e,  and  summon  all  help  you  want 
immediately  you  get  your  quarry  in  sight. 

Good  luck  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir/ 
said  Tom,  saluting 
his  chief  as  he  turned 
to  go 

Three  thousand 
dollars  !  The  reward 
astonished  him. 
The  magic  figures 
burnt  in  his  brain 
as  he  walked  down 
the  street,  oblivious 
to  all  that  was  hap- 
pening around  him. 
Three  thousand  dol- 
lars. Why,  that  and 
his  little  savings 
would  enable  him  to 
cross  the  ocean  and 
ensure  his  parents' 
home  for  the  rest  of 
their  lives. 

A  shadow  spread 
over  his  face  The 
day  before  he  had  received  a  letter  from  his 
mother.  It  told  him  the  old  people  were 
hard  pressed  and  required  help.  Well,  here 
was  the  chance.  He  would  earn  that  reward 
if  it  were  possible  for  human  being.  Three 
thousand  dollars — £600  ;  nearly  £700  with 
his  savings  !  Why,  he  would  be  able  to  settle 
down  on  the  old  farm  and  build  it  up  till  it 
was  flourishing  once  again. 

Gloom  was  chased  from  Tom's  mind.    The 
reward  was  his.      He  almost  felt  the  coins 
jingling  in  his  pockets  as  he  walked  along. 
*  *  * 

In  the  next  day  or  so  Tom  shuffled  out 
of  anything  which  might  betray  him  as  a 
revenue  man.  He  mixed  freely  with  the 
fisher  folk  and  the  country  people,  and 
incidentally  hejird  a  deal  of  gossip  which  he 
stored  in  his  mind  for  future  use.  He  was 
always  about,  and  hoping  to  hear  a  dropped 
word  which  might  put  him  on  the  right 
scent  frequented  Mulroyd's  bar,  down  by 
the  old  jetty  at  High  Point,  which  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  bay  and  gave  its  name  to 
the  sturdy  lighthouse  standing  a  mile  from 
the  shore,  on  a  large  rock,  to  warn  seafarers 
of  the  dangerous  coast  thereabouts. 

Mulroyd,  the  owner  of  the  bar,  was  one 
of  those  furtive  creatures,  sullen  and  silent, 
who  smoked  on  end,  and  seemed  to  be  always 
looking  for  someone  or  something  over  his 
shoulder.  Besides  the  bar,  which  was  a 
flourishing  business,  he  owned  a   large  mill 



across  the  fields  from  the  village,  in  a  spot 
which  was  little  frequented.  He  not  only 
owned  it  but  worked  it  himself,  and  no  one 
but  Mulroyd  ever  visited  it.  This  at  first 
aroused  Tom's  curiosity.  He  determined  to 
watch  Mulroyd  on  one  of  his  excursions  to 
the  mill  and  see  if  there  was  any  secret 
in  the  place.  One  evening  in  the  dusk  he 
followed  him,  but  discovered  little  except 
that  once  inside  Mulroyd  locked  the  door 
and  began  moving  something  about,  exercis- 
nig,  it  seemed  to  the  listener  outside,  great 

Somehow  Tom  felt  that  Mulroyd  and  his 
tavern  were  well  worth  keeping  an  eye  on, 
and  so  he  bearded  the  proprietor  one  day 
and  asked  him  for  a  job. 

"  What  can  you  do  1 "  grunted  Mulroyd, 
running  his  eyes  over  Tom's  sturdy  limbs. 

"  Well,  I'm  used  to  field  work  and  can 
carry  on  in  a  mill,"  answered  Tom. 

Don't  want  no  mill  hands  about  here." 
Then  perhaps  you  can  give  me  a  job  in 

Done  any  bar  tending  ever  *? " 

"  Yes,  I'm  pretty  used  to  many  things." 

"  Humph — think  you  could  take  on  here 
and  handle  this  place? " 

"  Yes,  I'm  certain  I  could." 

"Then  you  can  start,  butdon'c  commence 
any  hank,  or  out  you  go  sharp." 

I'  Trust  me."- 

"Get  your  apron  on  then.  I'll  see  you 
fixed  first.  Got  some  business  to  do.  If 
you  can  manage  it'll 
give  me  a  chance." 

Tom  congratulated 
himself  on  the  ad- 
vance he  had  made, 
but  he  discovered  no- 
thing for  a  couple  of 
days  to  arouse  sus- 
picion. But  about 
the  third  day  there 
were  rapid  develop- 
ments. The  light- 
house keeper  and  his 
sister  came  asho'e 
and  visited  Mulroyd. 
They  met  as  old 
friends,  and  seating 
themselves  round  a 
table  a  little  out  of 
the  way,  the  two 
men  laid  their  heads 
together,  while  the 
girl    soon    tired     of 

their  confidences  and  left  them  to  join  in 
the  dancing. 

Tom  waited  on  the  pair  assiduously,  trying 
to  hear  their  conversation.  Scraps  fell  on 
his  ears  as  he  came  behind  them  with  the 
drinks  they  called  for. 

The  lighthouse  keeper,  Thomasson  by 
name,  a  big,  burly  fellow,  had  important 
news  for  Mulroyd,  and  Tom  gathered  from 
the  few  words  he  caught  that  they  were 
comrades  in  a  none  too  honest  enterprise. 

Jansson's  lugger  will  lay  off  the  coast  to- 
night," he  heard  Thomasson  say. 

"Carrying  anything  1 shsh,  be  care- 
ful," replied  Mulroyd,  becoming  aware  of 
Tom  at  his  elbow. 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  ? ''  asked  the  light- 
house keeper,  as  the  new  barman  retreated 

"  Oh,  I  think  he's  all  right.  Came  round 
here  looking  for  a  job  and  I  put  him  on  to 
mind  the  bar.  Quite  safe,  I  should  say,  but 
it's  best  to  be  careful." 

"Any  good  for  our  job,  d'ye  think?  We 
could  do  with  a  lift.  There's  too  much  stuff 
accumulating  at  my  place.  Some  of  it  must 
be  brought  ashore  to-night." 

Tom  caught  the  words  "  must  be  brought 
ashore  to-night,''  as  he  sidled  up  to  the  pair, 
and  that  strengthened  his  suspicions.  But 
he  could  not  wait  for  more.  Kitty 
Thomasson  dashed  up  to  him  and  endea- 
voured to  attract  his  attention.  Intent  on 
his  work  he  took  little  notice  of  her,    and 

"  '  Keep  your  dirty  money,'  she  cried.     '  I  want  none  of  it.' 



returned  behind  the  bar  to  think. 

After   a   pause    Thomasson  spoke  again. 

We  could  do  with  a  sti'ong  fellow  like 
that  chap  to  help  us  to-night.  There  will 
be  a  lot  to  do.  Do  you  think  we  could 
take  him  along  Avithout  much  risk  1 " 

'  We  could,  perhaps,  without  letting  him 
know  too  much,"  replied  Mulroyd.  "  We 
can  tell  him  the  tale." 

Call  him  over  and  see  if  he  is  willing  to 

Righto.  Hij  come  here  a  moment," 
shouted  Mulroyd,  turning  and  calling  to 
Tom,  who  obeyed  the  command  at  once. 

"  We've   got   to   get   over   to   the    High 

Point  Lighthouse  to-night  to  change  material 

and  take  stock,"  said  the  bar-keeper  to  Tom. 

We  shall  want  a  hand.     Can  you   come 

along  ? " 

Yes,  certainly,  when  you  like,"  answered 

Get  ready  now  then  ;  we'll  get  of!  at 

Tom  discarded  his  apron^  and  the  four, 
for  Kitty  accompanied  the  men,  went  out 
and  down  to  the  quay  where  Mulroyd's 
launch  was  moored.  Lagging  behind  a  little, 
Toni  managed  to  scribble  a  few  words  to  his 
chief.  This  he  despatched  by  a  waiting 
confederate.  But  he  reckoned  without 
Kitty,  who,  attracted  to  him,  was  watching 
all  his  movements,  and  who,  becoming  sus- 
picious when  he  despatched  the  note,  warned 




W     tjk 
















"  Inch  by  inch  she  crawled  along  towards  the  end. 

her  brother  of  what  she  had  seen. 

The  three  were  in  the  launch  when  Tom 
came  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Never  mind  to-night,"  cried  Thomas«5on, 
as  he  pushed  off.  We  can  manage  our- 
selves, no  doubt.  We'll  pick  you  up  another 

Tom  stood  dumbfounded  as  the  launch 
moved  out  of  the  harbour.  They  evidently 
suspected  him,  and  if  their  night  work  was 
what  he  imagined  it  was,  they  would  now 
be  on  their  guard  against  him. 

For  some  time  he  stood  thinking  out  his 
next  move.  He  decided  on  a  bold  course. 
If  Mulroyd  and  '1  homasson  were  the  smug- 
glers, the  sooner  he  could  discover  conclusive 
evidence  the  better.  If  they  were  engaged  in 
legitimate  business,  there  could  be  no  harm  to 
them  in  him  knowing  what  it  was.  He  would 
follow  them  to  the  lighthouse,  and  by  pre- 
arranged signals  inform  the  revenue  men, 
who  would  soon  be  on  the  spot  for  any 
emergency.  It  was  a  risk,  but  it  was  the 
only  useful  course. 

A  dinghy  attached  to  a  vessel  alongside 

provided  means  to  get   to  the  lighthouse. 

Tom  leapt  in,  and  unshipping  the  oars  began 

to  pull  out  with  strong  strokes.    The  launch 

had    arrived   at   the    lighthouse    before   he 

determined  to  follow,  and  the  two  men  were 

engaged  in  other  business  as  the  dinghy  sped 

across  the  bay,   so  that   its  approach    was 


*         *         -x- 

True  enough,  Jans- 
son's  lugger  was 
lying  off  the  coast 
that  night.  Closely 
reefed  she  was  diffi- 
cult to  see  from  a 
distance,  but  Thom- 
asson knew  her 
whereai;outs;  and 
after  Kitty  had  been 
landed  at  the  light- 
house, the  two  men 
set  out  again  for  the 
lugger,  from  which 
they  quickly  loaded 
up.  As  quickly  they 
returned  to  the  light- 
house, and  landed 
the  cases  they  had 
obtained,  hiding  them 
away  in  a  cellar 
scooped  out  in  the 
rock    itseM     at    the 



base  of  the  light- 
house. Then  they 
retired  to  Thomas- 
son's  little  parlour, 
which  led  out  on  to 
the  gallery,  from 
where  the  lighthouse- 
keeper  could  assure 
himself  that  the  light 
was  in  working-order. 

Grog  and  cigars 
preceded  the  division 
of  notes,  which  ap- 
parently had  been 
paid  over  to  the  two 
men.  Kitty  was 
present,  and  Thomas- 
son  evidently 
thought  it  policy  to 
offer  her  a  portion  of 
the  reward.  But  she 
pushed  tlie  notes 
aside  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust. 

"  Keep  your  dirty  money,"  she  cried  ;  "  I 
want  none  of  it.  Oh,  you  need  not  fear 
1  shall  '  peach'  on  you,"  as  Thomasson 
sprang  up  with  an  oath  and  stood  over  her 
threateningly.  "  Your  business  is  your  own 
affair.  I  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
At  the  same  time  I  have  no  intention  of 
betraying  you." 

You'd  better  not.  I'll  stand  no  nonsense, 
my  girl,"  snarled  Thomasson,  resuming  his 

"  It  is  not  your  threats  that  will  keep  me 
quiet.  I  have  other  reasons,"  replied  Kitty 

By  this  time  Tom  had  reached  the  light- 
house and  he  quickly  clambered  up  on  to  the 
gallery  where  he  could  get  a  view  of  the 
persons  in  the  parlour. 

"  You'd  better  go  and  have  a  look  at  the 
lamp,"  suggested  Thomasson  to  Kitty. 

Why  don't  you  go  yourself  1 "  was  the 

"  Because  I  have  something  important  to 
say  to  Mulroyd,"  returned  the  lighthouse- 

Yes,  just  look  at  the  light,  while  your 
brother  tells  me  what  he  has  to  say,"  put  in 
Mulroyd  coaxingly. 

"All  right ;  get  on  with  your  business 
quick,"  said  the  girl,  rising  to  go.  "But  don't 
imagine  I'm  going  to  remain  up  in  the  top 
gallery  long  to  suit  you." 

Tom,  who  was  crouching  against  the  wall. 

"  Across  the  bay  a  boat  was  speeding." 

saw  the  girl  make  towards  the  door,  and 
looked  round  for  a  way  of  escape  should  she 
come  out  on  to  the  gallery.  A  ladder  to  the 
lamp  gallery  offered  a  way,  and  he  hastily 
mounted  and  stowed  himself  out  of  sight. 
For  some  few  moments  he  listened  and, 
hearing  no  sound,  straightened  himself  up 
and  began  to  consider  what  was  to  happen 
next.  It  was  a  ticklish  task  he  had  set 
himself.  Was  it  worth  it  %  His  hand  stole 
to  his  pocket  and  he  drew  out  a  much-creased 
piece  of  paper — his  mother's  letter,  in  which 
she  referred  to  the  need  of  help  in  the  old 
home.  As  he  was  reading  a  stealthy  figure 
crept  round  the  lamp,  and  before  he  was 
aware  of  it  Kitty  had  snatched  the  letter 
and  dashed  off. 

Here  was  a  predicament.  To  follow  her 
would  be  useless— he  would  be  discovered. 
If  he  stayed  where  he  was  she  would  doubt- 
less bring  the  nien  folk  along,  and 

But  he  worried  himself  needlessly  over 
this.  Kitty  had  conceived  a  sudden  liking 
for  the  brawny  fellow,  and  she  had  snatched 
the  letter  more  from  inquisitiveness  than 
anything  else.  Running  inside  the  lamp- 
house  she  straightened  the  piece  of  paper  out 
and  read.  The  message  it  conveyed  touched 
her  warm,  impulsive  heart.  She  took  the 
letter  back  to  its  owner. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  snatched  your  letter,"  she 
said  meekly,  holding  the  crumpled  piece  of 
paper  out  to  Tom.    "Will  you,  please,  take 

178  ■ 


it  back  ? " 

"Thank  you.  You 
are  kind,  but  why 
to  one  who  is  Tres- 
passing?" said  Tom, 
interested  in  the  girl 
Avho  acted  so  curious- 
ly, and  whom  he  had 
a  good  look  at  now. 

"I  don't  know. 
Interest,  I  suppose. 
I  read  the  letter  and 
thought  you  would 
like  it  back.  I  am 
so  lonely  here,  so 
friendless — I  should 
like  you  to  be  a 
friend  !  "  '     •- 

Tom  was  frankly 
taken  aback  by  this 
unconventional  ap- 
peal, but  he  felt  too 
that  he  would  like 
to  be  a  friend  of  this 
wild  beauty,  and  he  extended  his  hand. 

"  That's  settled  then,  we're  friends,"  said 
Kitty,  as  she  took  his  hand.  "  But  you 
must  get  away  from  here,  or  perhaps  there 
will  be  danger.  My  brother  will  be  sure  to 
come  up  a  little  later  to  see  to  the  lamps. 
Come  in  here  while  I  go  out  to  see  if  the 
way  is  clear."  And  the  girl  dragged  him  into 
the  lamp-room  as  she  spoke. 

Wondering  at  the  time  Kitty  remained 
on  the  upper  gallery,  her  brother  came  out 
of  the  parlour  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
He  saw  the  girl  looking  over  the  lamps,  and 
he  saw,  also,  what  made  him  emit  an  oath 
and  dash  back  to  his  comrade — ^Tom's  face 
in  the  light  between  the  flashes. 

"  That  fellow  of  yours  has  followed  us," 
he  cried.  "  He's  in  the  lamp-room  with 

"  What  ! Is  that  skunk  tracking  us  ?  " 

yelled  Mulroyd,  springing  to  his  feet.  "We 
must  nab  the  pair  of  them  before  they  have 
a  chance  to  split." 

Steady,  there.  This  job  must  be  done 
softly,"  said  Thomasson,  restraining  his 
excited  companion.  Follow  me — quietly. 
We  must  grab  Kitty  first  and  get  her  away, 
and  lock  that  spy  johnny  up  here  till  we  can 
deal  with  him  in  our  own  time." 

The  two  had  reached  the  top  gallery  when 
Kitty  came  out  of  the  lamp-room  to  see  if 
the  way  was  clear  for  Tom's  escape.  As  she 
came  round  the  gallery  she  ran  unwittingly 

The  escape  from  the  death  trap. 

into  the  arms  of  the  waiting  men.  They 
seized  her,  and  Mulroyd,  clapping  a  hand 
over  her  mouth,  held  her  fast  despite  her 
struggles,  while  Thomasson  sprang  forward 
to  the  door  of  the  lamp-room,  and  slammed 
it  before  Tom  realised  that  anythnig 
untoward  had  happened. 

With  a  shout  of  triumph  the  lighthouse- 
keeper  fastened  the  door  on  the  outside,  and 
Tom  was  left  a  prisoner,  while  the  two 
smugglers — for  smuggling  was  the  busines-. 
the  two  were  secretly  engaged  in — carried 
Kitty  down  to  the  launch  and  off  to  the 

It  was  still  pitch  dark  when  the  launch 
reached  the  quay,  and  the  smugglers  were 
able  to  hurry  the  girl  across  to  Mulroyd's 
desolate  mill,  and  imprison  her  there  safely 
without  anyone  being  the  wiser.  Satisfied 
she  would  be  secure  there  till  they  chose  to 
release  her,  they  returned  to  the  tavern  to 
refresh  themselves.  The  wind  had  freshened, 
and  angry,  dark  clouds  were  scudding  over 
the  skies  as  they  stumbled  over  the  fields  on 
their  way  back.  They  sought  the  shelter  of 
the  tavern  gladly,  and  endeavoured  to  restore 
themselves  to  equanimity  with  liberal  doses 
of  rum. 

*  +  * 

Left  to  himself  Tom  looked  about  for  the 
best  thing  to  do  in  the  circumstances.  He 
had  been  in  so  many  awkward  situations 
this  evening  that  his  present  position  did 



not  worry  him  considerably.  First  he  must 
find  a  means  of  signalling  to  the  shore, 
thus  letting  the  revenue  men,  whom  he  had 
warned  by  the  note,  know  where  he  was. 
They  would  be  on  the  look  out.  The  lamp 
provided  the  only  means  of  signalling,  but 
he  had  no  knowledge  of  its  manipulation. 
That  it  could  be  flashed  to  the  mainland  he 
knew,  but  how  this  was  managed  he  had 
not  the  faintest  idea.  AnyhoAv  he  did  the 
best  thing  in  the  circumstances — he  tried  ; 
and  after  a  deal  of  fumbling,  more  by  luck 
than  judgment,  directed  a  flash  shorewards. 
Having  accomplished  this  to  his  satisfaction, 
he  started  a  tour  of  inspection.  Going 
through  the  several  rooms  he  found  nothing 
to  incriminate  the  inhabitants  of  the  light- 
house, but  descending  into  the  basement  he 
stumbled  on  a  trap  door  Avhich  led  by  a  rope- 
ladder  into  a  dank  cellar. 

The  thunder  had  begun  to  roll  overhead 
when  Tom  left  the  lamp  room,  and  the  wind 
was  whipping  up  the  waters  to  fury.  Now 
and  then  a  streak  of  lightning  lit  up  the 
rock  and  the  sturdy  building  upon  it,  but 
this  did  not  deter  him  in  his  search.  Down 
in  the  basement  Tom  heard  the  waves  dash 
with  violence  over  the  lighthouse  rock,  and 
the  crash  after  crash  of  the  thunder  which 
roared  in  a  continuous  roll  overhead.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated,  reflecting  that  his 
comrades,  even  if  they  recognised  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  light  flashing  shorewards,  would 
be  unable,  in  such  weather,  to  render  him 
any  assistance.  Then  he  stepped  resolutely 
on  the  rope  ladder  after  fixing  the  trap-door 
open  and  began  to  descend.  He  had  almost 
reached  the  bottom  when  the  door  snapped 
to,  the  shock  precipitating  him  to  the  floor. 
The  ladder  was  fixed  to  the  centre  of  the 
■door  and  his  weight  on  it  had  been  sufficient 
to  break  the  catch  which  held  it  open,  and 
he  was  now  a  prisoner  in  the  vault.  All 
eftbrts  to  escape  were  hopeless — his  weight 
on  the  ladder  when  he  climbed  up  to  force 
the  door  open  rendered  his  attempts  useless 
— he  was  trapped  like  a  rat  in  a  hole. 

Kitty,  left  alone  in  the  dark,  dreary  mill, 
was  overtaken  with  fear.  She  clambered 
up  into  the  uppermost  chamber,  and  finding 
a  window  looking  out  to  sea,  strained  to  see 
any  sign  of  what  was  happening  at  the 
lighthouse.  The  storm  frightened  her.  She 
shrank  back  as  each  flash  of  lightning  lit  up 
the  countryside,  the  quay,  and  now  and 
again  the  High  Point  rock. 

As  the  first  faint  lights  crept  up  in  the 
east  a  little  of  her  .usual  courage  came  back 
to  the  frightened  girl.  She  groped  about 
in  the  tiny  room  at  the  top  of  the  mill  to 
see  what  she  could  find,  or  to  discover  a 
possible  means  of  escape.  Of  escape,  how- 
ever, nothing  oftered  a  chance,  but  she  found 
an  old  telescope  used  by  Mulroyd  to  watch 
the  sea  when  the  smuggling  boats  were 
about,  and  this  enabled  her  to  inspect  the 
lighthouse  closely.  For  some  time  she 
watched  the  lightning  ■  playing  round  the 
rock,  then  as  a  terrible  fork  of  electricity 
darted  down  from  the  sky  she  staggered 
back  with  a  cry  of  alarm — the  lightning  had 
struck  the  lighthouse,  and  a  mass  of  dense 
smoke  rose  from  the  spot.  Presently  the 
smoke  rolled  away,  and  she  saw  that  the 
lighthouse  was  afire,  for  tiny  shoots  of  flame 
were  spurting  out  from  the  side  where  the 
lightning  appeared  to  have  struck.  A 
horrible  concern  for  the  man  she  knew  to 
be  in  the  lighthouse  seized  her.  She  must 
get  out  to  help  him  !  Again  she  sought 
round  the  mill  for  a  way  of  escape,  but 
there  was  no  exit  open.  Stay,  there  was 
one  way — but  that  was  perilous  ;  the  chances 
were  that  even  if  she  got  out  of  the  mill 
that  way  she  would  be  dashed  to  death  on 
the  ground.  But  it  was  worth  trying— 
anything  was  better  than  being  shut  up 
helpless  there. 

The  great  wings  of  the  mill  were  stopped, 
but  she  could  remove  the  brake  and  crawl 
out  to  the  utmost  end  of  one  of  the  wings 
and  trust  to  luck  in  a  jump  when  it  came 
near  the  ground.  The  idea  fascinated  her. 
She  took  one  more  look  at  the  burning 
lighthouse,  and  then,  rushing  to  the  brake 
on  the  wings,  eased  it  considerably,  so  that 
when  she  crawled  out  on  to  the  one 
horizontal  from  the  axle,  her  weight  would 
carry  her  slowly  down  to  the  ground.  One 
thing  she  miscalculated — the  effect  the 
movement  would  have  in  releasing  the  brake 

Gathering  up  her  short  skirts,  Kitty 
climbed  out  over  the  axle  on  to  the  great 
wing  which  stretched  out  parallel  with  the 
ground.  Inch  by  inch  she  crawled  along 
towards  the  end.  It  bore  her  weight  till 
she  was  more  than  three-quarters  of  the 
way,  then  slowly  it  began  to  move.  Still 
she  continued  crawling,  the  wings  gather- 
ing momentum  every  inch.  She  had  just 
reached  the  end  as  the  wing  carrying  her 
came   near   the   ground,    when    the    brake 



The  djnamite  .  .  .  hurled  masses  of  rock  against  the  door  .  .  .  making  the  two  men  prisoners." 

released  entirely,  and  the  wings  flew  round 
suddenly,  shaking  off  her  hold  and  throwing 
her  several  yards  to  the  ground.  A  few 
moments  she  lay  half-stunned,  bur  the  in- 
tensity of  her  purpose  revived  her.  Though 
severely  shaken  she  picked  herself  up  and 
raced  towards  the  quay,  where  she  jumped 
into  the  first  boat  and  pulled  with  all  her 
strength  to  the  lighthouse. 

Tom,  unaware  that  anyone  was  on  the 
way  to  rescue  him,  tried  every  means  to 
find  a  way  out  of  his  dismal  prison.  Un- 
successful, he  took  it  philosophically,  and 
Avith  the  aid  of  matches  had  a  look  round. 
In  a  corner  he  discovered  several  square 
boxes,  and  closer  investigation  caused  him 
to  put  out  his  matches.  It  was  dynamite. 
This  was  the  smugglers'  store-room,  and  he 
had  stumbled  on  it  by  chance,  though  he 
appeared  to  have  little  hope  of  using  the 
evidence  he  had  found  and  so  win  the 
reward  which  meant  so  much  to  him  and 
his  people.  Of  a  sudden  an  idea  seized  him. 
In  his  pocket  he  had  a  huge  general  utility 
knife,  in  the  back  of  which  was  a  strong 
gimlet.  If  he  could  fix  this  firmly  enough 
in  the  wooden  ceiling  and  so  hang  the  end 
of   the   rope    ladder   by  it   that   he   could 

relieve  the  end  attached  to  the  trap-door, 
he  might  be  able  to  force  an  exit.  It  was 
a  plan  worth  trying.  It  took  some  time  to 
carry  out,  but  he  was  urged  on  by  the  tiny 
wisps  of  smoke  which  stole  in  through 
cracks  in  the  ceiling.  Wondering  what  this 
could  mean,  being  oblivious  to  the  fact  that 
the  lighthouse  had  been  struck  by  lightning 
and  was  burning,  he  worked  with  renewed 
energy,  and  finally  managed  to  move  the 
trap-door  sufficiently  to  get  his  head  through. 
The  room  above  was  full  of  smoke — he 
realised  with  a  flash  that  the  lighthouse 
was  afire,  and  a  chill  struck  his  heart  as 
he  remembered  the  dynamite  in  the  cellar.  In 
haste  he  wriggled  through  the  opening  he 
had  forced,  and  fought  his  way  blindly  out 
on  to  the  lower  gallery.  The  flames  licked 
him  at  every  foot  of  his  passage,  and  he 
gasped  for  breath.  But  at  last,  blinded  and 
choking,  he  reached  the  open  air,  and 
pausing  a  m.oment,  looked  round  for  means 
to  get  away  from  the  rock.  Across  the 
l)ay  a  boat  was  speeding,  its  solitary  occupant 
pulling  with  might  and  main.  He  hailed 
it  desperately.  The  rower  half-turned  in 
answer,  but  never  ceased  pulling  vigorously 
a  second.     It  was  Kittv.     In  a  few  minutes- 



she  was  alongside  the  landing  steps. 

"  Jump  in  quick,"  she  cried,  not  waiting 
to    exchange    greetings    or   ask   questions. 

.  "There  is  dynamite  in  the   basement.     It 
might  blow  up  any  moment." 

Tom  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  taking  the 
oars  rowed  furiously  avA'ay  from  the  death- 
trap he  had  so  narrowly  escaped.  They  did 
not  speak  to  each  other  until  the  boat  was 
half-way  across  the  bay.  They  watched  the 
burning  lighthouse  with  fascination.  Of  a 
sudden  a  thick  black  column  rose  from  the 
base  of  the  rock,  and  there  was  a  terrific  roar,  a 
^reat  shaft  of  flame  lept  upward,  enveloping 
the  whole  building.  The  dynamite  had 
exploded,  the  noise  drowning  even  the 
terrible  voice  of  the  storm.  The  lighthouse 
seemed  to  sway  a  moment,  then  the  whole 
structure  collapsed.  The  watchers  in  the 
boat  were  held  spell-bound  at  that  moment. 
Tom.  had  ceased  rowing,  but  a  huge  wave, 
caused  by  the  explosion  and  the  collapse  of 
the  lighthouse,  recalled  him  to  his  senses. 
He  grasped  the  oars  again  to  steady  the 
boat  which  was  caught  in  the  swirling  waters 

and  tossed  hither  and  thither  like  a  piece  of 
matchwood,  but  through  the  agency  of 
Providence  was  not  overturned. 

It    was   all    over.     Kitty,    who  had   not 

removed  her  eyes  from  the  rock  which  had 

been    her    home    for    years,  turned  to  her 

companion  : 

"Thank  God,  I  whs  in  time,"  she  cried, 

and   Tom    re-echoed 

the        sentiment,      

though    he    did    not 

speak.     He  was  too 

intent    on    reaching 

the  mainland. 

Willing      hands 

were   ready  to  assist 

the  much-tried    pair 

when      they      came 

alongside  the  quay — 

men  of  the    levenue 

service,  who  had  been 

aroused      by    Tom's 

signals    from    the 

lighthouse  and 

alarmed  by  the  sub- 

sec^uent    fire    and 

explosion.       Tom 

explained     all     that 

had    happened    in    a 

few  words. 

'  But  now  to  catch 

the    smugglers,"    he 

concluded,  "  wherever  they  may  be." 

"Perhaps  Mulroyd's  tavern  will  reveal 
them,"  said  one  of  the  revenue  men. 

"  Or  the  mill,"  put  in  Kitty,  bitter  with 
her  experiences. 

"  We'll  search  the  tavern  first,"  cried 
Tom,  leading  the  way,  with  one  arm  round 
Kitty.  Somehow  the  two  tacitly  admitted 
their  indebtedness  and  sympathy  for  each 

But  the  smugglers  were  not  found  at  the 


*         *         * 

When  Kitty  escaped  from  the  mill  the 
violent  wind  drove  the  wings  round  at  a 
terrific  speed.  The  axle,  unoiled,  became 
overheated,  and  soon  the  wood  on  the 
primitive  axle  -  box  began  to  smoulder. 
Aroused  by  the  terror  of  the  storm,  Mulroyd, 
who,  with  the  lighthouse  keeper,  had  drunk 
himself  into  a  stupor,  got  up  to  look  out  of 
the  window.  The  grey  morning  light  revealed 
a  sight  which  sobered  him  in  a  trice.  The 
windmill  wings  were  flying  round  at  a  terrific 
rate  and  smoke  was  issuing  from  the  topmost 

"  The  dynamite,"  he  screamed,  awaking 
Thomasson.  "  The  dynamite — the  mill  is 

What's  the  matter  with  the  dynamite, 
you  fool  1 "  muttered  Thomasson,  still  under 
the  influence  of  the  grog. 

"  I   tell  you  the  mill  is  afire.     We  must 

The  trials  of  the  old  folk. 



save  the  dynamite  or  it  will  be  blown  up," 
cried  Mulroyd  again,  shaking  his  comrade 
roughly.  "Jump  up,  man,  and  come  along," 
he  continued,  as  Thomassorr  roused  himself. 

We  may  be  in  time  yet." 

Thomasson,  half  comprehending  that  what 
Mulroyd  said  was  serious,  got  up  and 
followed  his  comrade  out  of  the  house.  As 
they  came  in  full  view  of  the  mill  they 
could  see  the  little  flashes  of  flame  round 
the  axle  of  the  wings.  They  hastened  their 
steps,  and  soon  were  running  their  hardest 
across  the  ploughed  fields.  Around  the 
foot  of  the  mill  Mulroyd  had  built  up  a  pile 
of  rocks  which  gave  the  structure  a  solid 
appearance.  These  were  to  cause  the 
downfall  of  the  smugglers,  for  rushing  into 
the  place  after  Mulroyd,  Thomasson,  still 
under  the  influence  of  the  grog  he  had 
consumed,  madly  seized  a  small  case  of 
dynamite,  and  carrying  it  to  the  door  hurled 
it  outside.  The  wind  of  the  explosion  blew 
the  door  to,  and  the  dynamite  when  it  went 
off  hurled  masses  of  the  loose  rock  against 
the  door,  rendering  it  impossible  to  open 
it  from  the  inside,  and  making  the  two  men 

Prisoners  in  a  burning  mill  with  a  store 
of  dynamite  !  Mulroyd  cursed  his  comrade. 
As  the  fire  burned  lower  the  trapped  men 
rushed  about  like  madmen  trying  to  find  an 

Succour  was  to  come  from  outside,  how- 
ever, for  the  revenue  men  were  hurrying  up 
to  the  mill.  Seeing  what  had  happened  they 
feverishly  responded  to  the  cries  of  the  pri- 
soners ;  and  despite  the  danger  from  the  fire 
overhead,  cleared  away  the  rocks  sufficient  to 
admit  of  an  entrance  being  effected.  The 
smugglers  were  dragged  out,  and  too  beaten 
to  put  up  resistance  were  marched  off  to 
jail.  The  mill  continued  to  burn  fiercely 
for  some  time  afterwards,  but  eventually  the 
dynamite  blew-up  and  all  that  remained 
later  in  the  day  were  the  blackened  and 
smouldering  ruins. 

The  case  against  the  smugglers  was  con- 
clusive, and  the  chief  of  the  revenue 
department  decided  that  Tom  had  well 
earned  the  reward.  With  the  money  he 
returned  home  to  the  aid  of  his  own  old 
folk,  but  he  took  someone  with  him — a 
wife  ;  it  was  Kitty,  the  lighthouse  keeper's 

T  TOW  would  you  like  to  wear  a  cool  million 
■*-  -■■  dollars  in  jewellery,  if  only  for  a  few 
hours  ?  How  would  you  like  to  wear  a 
gown  designed  by  "  Lucille"  (Lady  DufF-Gordon) 
costing  over  £600  ? 

This  is  exactly  what  Alice  Joyce,  the  beautiful 
Kalem  star,  is  to  do  in  a  forthcoming  feature  of 
the  Alice  Joyce  series.  The  jewels  will  be  loaned 
to  Kalem  by  one  of  the  Fifth  Avenue's  most 
prominent  jewellers,  while  the  magnificent  gown 
to  be  worn  by  Miss  Joyce  is  now  being  made 
by  the  most  fashionable  modiste  of  to-day. 

The  mere  cost  of  borrowing  the  jewels  which 
Miss  Joyce  is  to  wear,  even  though  it  is  to  Vje  for 
only  a  few  hours,  is  enormous.  Because  nothing 
covering  a  case  similar  to  this  has  ever  come  to 
the  attention  of  the  insurance  and  bonding  com- 
panies, special  arrangements  have  had  to  be 
made  with  the  concerns  who  have  undertaken  to 
assume  the  risk. 

Pinkerton  detectives  have  been  engaged  to 
guard  Miss  Joyce  while  the  filming  of  the  scenes 
in  which  the  Kalem  star  wears  the  jewels  is  in 
progress.  A  special  force  of  men  will  guard  the 
studio  in  which  the  scenes  are  to  be  made,  and 
none  but  those  showing  special  passes  will  be 
admitted  to  the  place  until  the  gems  are  on 
their  way  back  to  the  steel  vaults  of  their  owners. 
The  title  of  the  Alice  Joyce  feature  in  which  the 
jewels  are  to  be  worn  will  be  announced  shorth'. 

OWING  to  the  fact  that  America  is  such  a 
prominent  film-producing  country,  visitors 
to  cinema  theatres  often  find  themselves 
puzzled  by  the  peculiar  dialect  in  which  the 
explanation  of  the  pictures  is  given.  There  is 
"  rustler,"  for  example.  This  means  cattle  thief. 
"Rustling  a  broncho,"  therefore,  stands  for 
stealing  a  small  horse  ;  a  broncho  being  the  kind 
of  animal  generally  ridden  on  the  western  plains. 
Other  cowboy  terms  are  :  "  Hold-up,"  a  demand 
for  money  ;  "  thug,"  a  higliwaj^  robber  ; 
"quitter,"  a  coward;  "rube,"  a  yokel;  and 
"shack,"  an  old  barn.  Again,  we  are  learning 
several  new  waj's  of  saying  hooligan.  "Hood- 
lum" is  one,  and  "tough"  another.  For  our 
tramp,  too,  there  are  "hobo"  and  "deadbeat," 
while  "  dive  "  is  equivalent  to  "thieves'-kitchen," 
or  a  resort  of  bad  characters. 

WHO  invented  Motion  Pictures  ?  Edison's 
Kinetoscope,  invented  it  1887,  was 
demonstrated  at  the  World's  Fair, 
Chicago,  in  1893 ;  whilst  Muybridge,  in  1872, 
Donisthorpe  in  1876  and  Reynaud  in  1877,  have 
variously'  been  credited  with  the  invention,  but 
it  seems  that  the  honours  should  go  to  Mr. 
Henry  R.  Heyl,  who  gave  the  first  exhibition  at 
Philadelphia  on  February''i')th,'l870. 

The  Basilisk. 


Adapted  fi'om  the  HcpivorfJi  Drama  hy  John  Harrow. 

A  strange  and  uncanny  subject,  little  understood,  is  that 
of  clairvoyance  and  hypnotism,  which,  if  practised  by  a 
rogue,  leads  to  danger.  Freda  succumbs  to  the  influence 
of  a  deceiving  mesmerist,  who  endeavours  to  get  her  in 
his  power;  but  the  story  shows  how  the  spell  is  broken, 
and  how  a  terrible  Nemesis  wreaks  vengeance  on  the 
would-be  destroyer. 


Basil  Reska 
Eric  Larne 
Freda  Hampton 


Written  and  Produced  by  CECIL  M.   HEPWORTH. 

jND8  up,  governor." 

The  command  was  ignored 
however  by  the  man  stand- 
ing calmly  at  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  and  amazed 
indeed  were  the  two  bur- 
glars who  now  found  themselves  unable  to 
remove  their  eyes  from  his.  Never  a  word 
did  he  speak,  yet  by  some  invisible  power 
he  held  the  two  marauders  completely  at 
his  mercy.  Another  moment  and  they  had 
slunk  out  of  the  room  and  were  disappearing 
across  the  lawn  as  fast  as  their  trembling 
legs  could  cany  them. 

+  *  * 

It  may  be  possible  to  hypnotise  weak 
minded  people,  but  I  doubt  if  any  man  can 
control  a  brain  equally  as  strong  as  his  own. 
In  my  opinion,  the  thing  is  simply  a  battle  of 
strength  between  minds." 

"You  may  be  right,  Larne;  nevertheless 
it  is  perfectly  true  about  those  two  rascally 
burglars.  They  were  completely  at  my 
mercy.  Why,  one  of  the  fellows  actually 
covered  me  with  a  revolver  and  found 
himself  unable  to  use  it." 

The  above  discussion  took  place  in  old 
John  Hampton's  house.  A  number  of  well- 
known  people  were  present,  among  them 
Basil  Eeska,  with  whom  the  reader  came  in 
touch  in  the  opening  paragraph. 

Young  Eric  Laine  was  there  as  a  matter 
of  course.     Since  losing  his  heart  to  Freda 

Hampton  he  had  practically  haunted  the 
house.  The  fact  that  the  occult  formed  the 
topic  of  conversation  annoyed  him  consider- 
ably. No  healthy  young  man  believes  oi 
cares  anything  about  such  things  as  hyp- 
notism, and  Eric  was  a  fine  specimen  of 
British  manhood.  Turning  to  Reska  he 
challenged  him  rather  warmly. 

'  To  support  my  rem.ark  I  am  quite 
willing  that  you  should  practise  your  hypnotic 
powers  on  me,  and  I  honestly  believe  it  is 
beyond  you  to  cause  me  to  do  anything 
against  my  will," 

Basil  readily  responded  to  the  challenge, 
and  after  making  a  few  elaborate  preparations 
did  his  very  utmost  to  hypnotise  the  sturdy 
young  fellow.  His  eiforts  were  treated 
lightly  by  the  remainder  of  the  company, 
and  roars  of  laughter  greeted  his  obvious 
failure.  Reska  was  maddened  at  the 
humiliation  he  had  suffered. 

''Give  me  another  chance,"  he  cried, 
"  and  I  will  prove  to  you  that  I  possess  the 
powers  I  lay  claim  to." 

"  Try  me,  Basil,"  said  Freda  Hampton. 
"  Perhaps  I  shall  prove  more  responsive 
than  Eric." 

"  No,  Freda,  don't  do  it,"  cried  Larne. 
"  You  know  I  object  to  this  sort  of  thing." 

Eric's  protest  seemed  to  decide  the  girl, 
and  flashing  her  lover  a  roguish  smile  she 
seated  herself  in  front  of  Basil,  and  the 
latter  made  his   second   attempt.     It    was 



obvious  from  the 
that  Freda  was 
strangely  influ- 
enced by  Reska, 
who,  with  his 
bold  grey  eyes 
and  powerful 
clean  shaven 
face,  possessed 
that  fascinating 
which  proves  so 
attractive  to 
members  of  the 
opposite  sex. 

The  company 
was  very  quiet 
as  Basil  brought 
his  powers  to 
bear  on  the  girl, 
and  as  his  influ- 
ence began  to 
take  eff"ect  several 
of     the      ladies 

present  gave  vent  to  awe-stricken  gasps. 
Freda's  smiling  face  slowly  contracted  into 
a  stony  stare.  Reska  explained  to  her 
that  she  was  Lady  Jane  Grey  about  to 
be  executed,   and  she  admitted    that  such 

The  Burglars  gain  an  entrance  to  Basil's  house. 

was  the  case.  In  a  quiet  penetrating 
voice  he  commanded  her  to  beg  for  mercy 
from  the  people  present,  and  going  on  her 
knees  to  each  in  turn  she  did  so. 

The  scene  was  pitiful  in  the  extreme,  and 
shivers  began  to 
pass  round  the 

Basil  realised 
that  he  had  gone 
far  enough,  and 
allowing  his  face 
to  relax  into  a 
smile  he  released 
the  girl  from  his 
influence.  For 
a  while  she  was 
too  l)evvildered 
to  grasp  the 
situation,  then 
looking  round 
with  a  smile  she 
said  : 

"What  has 
happened  1 " 

Upon  being- 
told  of  the 
absurd  things  she 
had  done,  the 
girl  blushed  to 
the     roots     of 

"  'Ands  up,  governor." 



lier  hair,  and  looking  with  terror  at  Basil 
she  hurried  from  the  lOom.  Shortly  after- 
wards the  remainder  of  the  ladies  followed 
her,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  coflee, 
cigars  and  gossip. 

Although  efforts  were  made  by  several  of 
the  men  present  to  turn  the  conversation 
into  a  more  pleasant  channel,  the  subject  of 
hypnotism  could  not  be  kept  under,  and 
before  long  the  whole  company  were  aiguing 
as  to  whether  Basil's  extraordinary  power 
was  sufficiently  strong  to  influence  anybody 
Avho  was  not  actually  present. 

I  am  willing  to  bet  you  a  fiver  that  you 
cannot  hypnotise  Miss  Hampton  now  that 
she  is  absent."  This  offer  was  made  by 
young  Eric,  who  was  still  feeling  hurt  over 
the  ridiculous  capers  that  Freda  had  cut 
whilst  under  Basil's  influence. 

The  hypnotist  smilingly  accepted  the  offer, 
and  selecting  a  small  dish  from  the  table  he 
explained  to  the  angry  young  fellow  that 
without  moving  an  inch  from  where  he  was 
now  seated  he  would  cause  Freda  to  con-e 
into  the  room,  take  the  dish  from  his  hand 
and  return  with  it  to  the  drawing-room. 

All  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  door,  and  a 
gasp  ran  round  the  now  silent  room  as  it 
was  seen  to  open.  Freda  appeared,  and 
upon  her  face  was  that  strange  mesmeric 
look  which  the  assembled  company  had  seen 
there    but   a    few    minutes    before.       She 

crossed  to  where  Basil  sat,  and  without 
speaking  a  word  she  lifted  the  dish  from 
his  hand  and  returned  the  way  she  had 
come.  As  she  entered  the  drawing-room  the 
influence  left  her,  and  she  was  astonished  to 
find  herself  holding  the  little  dish,  having 
no  idea  where  it  had  come  from.  The 
ladies  present  were  amazed  at  Freda's 
action,  and  a  mysterious  silence  reigned. 

Far  different  was  the  scene  in  the 
dining-roon:.  Basil  was  being  noisily  ap- 
plauded by  the  men,  with  the  exception  of 
Larne,  who,  greatly  disgusted  with  himself 
for  causing  this  second  disturbance,  com- 
pletely lost  his  temper.  Glaring  at  Reska, 
he  cried  : 

"I  believe  you  are  the  very  devil  him- 
self." Snatching  his  case  from  his  pocket 
he  took  out  a  five-pound  note,  and  crushing 
it  into  a  ball,  flung  it  full  into  the  face  of 
the  hypnotist.  Stamping  like  a  mad  bull 
he  hurried  from  the  room. 

As  may  well  be  expected  after  the  events 
recoided  above,  all  friendship  between  Eric 
and  Basil  was  at  end.  The  strangest  result 
however,  arising  out  of  the  experiments 
conducted  by  Reska  at  Hampton's  house, 
was  that  he  conceived  a  wild  passion  for  the 
girl  who  had  proved  so  susceptible  to  his 
mesmeric  power.  When  this  became  ap- 
parent to  onlookers  it  caused  Eric  great 
annoyance,  and  his  feeling  of  hatred  towards 

"Freda'.s  smiling  tare  slowly  contracted  into  a  stony  stare." 



Keska  became  more 
and  more  acute.  So 
deeply  did  his  jealousy 
affect  him  that  he 
refused  to  allow  Freda 
out  of  his  sight. 
Through  this,  further 
complications  arose,  as 
Freda  objected  to  being 
unable  to  move  unless 
accompanied  by  him. 
Angry  words  passed 
between  the  lovers,  and 
now  Eric  had  resorted 
to  following  her 
wherever  she  went. 

One  day  about  a 
week  after  the  events 
recorded  ])reviously, 
Basil  was  sitting  at  his 
window  when  Freda 
chanced  to  pass.  His 
passion  for  the  girl  had 
now  become  so  great 
that  he  longed  for 
her  company.  The 
temptation  of  the  present  opportunity 
proved  irresistible,  and  exerting  his  influ- 
ence   once    more    he    forced    her    to    enter 


%  r 



i    1" 


■    4^/- 



r    ^^'^         m^w 



"  He  grasped  liim  l>y  the  tliroat  and  would  ^la^■e  strangled  him." 

Reska  conceived  a  wild  passion  for  the  gii'l  who  had  proved 
so  susceptible  to  his  mesmeric  power." 

his  house. 

That  morning  Eric   had   followed  Freda 

and  was  surprised  and  annoyed  to  see  her 
enter  Basil's  gate. 
After  a  m  o  m  e  n  t's- 
thought  he  suspected 
that  she  was  not  acting^ 
of  her  own  free  will, 
and  decided  to  follow 
her.  He  was  just  in 
time  to  stop  BasilV 
insulting  behavour. 

"  You  cur,"  he  cried, 
as  he  saw  his  lover  in 
the  arms  of  his  rival. 
Rushing  at  heska  he 
grasped  him  by  the 
throat  and  would  have 
strangled  him  but  for 
the  timely  intervention 
of  Freda,  who  had 
now  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  Basil's  mes- 
meric influence.  Fling- 
ing the  wretched 
hypnotist  to  the  floor 
he  shook  his  fist  in  his 
face,  and  laughing 
triumphantly  left  the 
house  with  Freda.  For 
a     time    at    least    the 



spell  was  broken. 

*  +  * 

All  went  well  for  a  while,  Freda  and  Eric 
carefully  avoiding  the  man  whom  they  now 
both  loathed.  Fate  deemed  it  that  they 
should  meet  again  however,  and  the  meeting 
took  place  at  a  house  where  Freda  and 
Basil  were  fellow  guests.  Her  greeting  of  him 
was  extremely  cold,  and  this  attitude  on  the 
girl's  part  was  bitterly  resented  by  Reska. 
He  determined  to  crush  her  spirit  once  and 
for  all.  That  night,  when  everybody  had 
retired  to  rest,  Freda  could  not  sleep. 
Again  and 
again  she  tried, 
but  instinc- 
tively felt  that 
the  invisible 
force  of  the 
man  she  hated 
was  again  be- 
ing brought  to 
bear  on  her. 
After  vain 
endeavours  to 
resist  his  in- 
fluence the 
girl  was  forced 
to  leave  her 
room,  and  al- 
though she 
was  aAvare  that 
her  destina- 
'tion  was  Basil's 
room,  she 
found  it  im- 
possible to 
direct  her  foot- 
steps  into 

Eeska  had 
one  point  how- 
ever, and  that 
was  that  it  is 

impossible  for  a  man  to  use  hypnotism  in 
order  to  get  a  woman  into  his  power.  He 
was  to  learn  the  truth  of  this  with  startling 

The  moment  that  Freda  entered  the 
room  and  saw  her  wicked  tormentor's  in- 
tentions, her  faculties  returned  to  her. 
Directly  she  realised  her  freedom  from  the 
power  of  this  devil  she  recalled  her  past 
sufferings  at  his  hands,  and  her  wrath  was 
terrible  to  see. 

For  once  your  power  has  failed  you,"  she 
cried.  "  It  is  my  turn  now,  and  I  will  kill 
you."  Snatching  up  a  chair  she  rushed,  at 
the  man,  but  the  miserable  wretch,  as- 
tounded and  amazed  at  the  failure  of  his 
plans,  could  only  grovel  at  her  feet.  At  the 
sight  of  this  cowardice  Freda's  anger  left 
her,  and  dropping  the  chair  she  hurried 
from  the  room,  her  shoulders  shaking  with 

After  a  time  Basil  recovered  from  his 
state  of  terror,  and  he  became  consumed 
with    rage.     To   think   that   he  should   be 

"  Snatching  up  a  chair,  she  rushed  at  the  man." 

defied.  He  sat  up  far  into  the  night,  and 
had  before  laying  his  head  on  the  pillow- 
planned  a  hideous  and  terrible  revenge. 

Eric  was  again  back  at  the  Hamptons. 
Things  were  now  going  very  smoothly 
between  him  and  Freda,  and  he  was  quite 
happy.  There  was  still  a  doubt  in  his  mind 
as  to  whether  they  had  seen  or  heard  the 
last  of  Basil  Reska.  If  he  could  have  seen 
Freda  at  that  moment  he  would  have  known 



that  the  hypnotist  was 
still  exerting  liis  powers 
over  the  i)Oor  girl,  this 
time  with  the  intention 
of  exacting  his  revenge. 

Freda  had  dressed  for 
dinner  and  was  just  pre- 
paring to  descend,  when 
she  felt  the  horrible  influ- 
ence stealing  over  her. 
Try  as  she  could  she  was 
unable  to  resist  it,  and 
seizing  a  knife  frona  a 
trophy  of  old  arms  which 
hung  upon  the  wall  she 
descended  the  stairs  and 
went  aionij  the  corridor 
in  the  direction  of  Eric's 
room.  The  young  fellow 
did  not  see  her  until  she 
was  quite  close  to  him, 
and  then,  looking  up,  he 
saw  his  sweetheart  a  few 
paces  before  him,  knife  in  hand. 

"  Oh  !    my   God  ! "    he    cried 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

k    ^ 


BP^     -^^B 


"  The  knife  was  raised  ready  to  strike." 

*  Freda, 
But   as  he 

dashed  forward  and  seized  her  wrist  he 
realised  her  condition,  and  his  anguish  at 
seeing  his  beloved  once  more  under  the 
power  of  their  mutual  foe  was  so  great  that 
he  slipped  to  the  ground  in  despair.  The 
girl  stepped  forward,  knelt  on  one  knee,  and 
the  knife  was  raised  ready  to  strike. 

Now,  Eric,  I  am  quite  comfortable." 

Are  you  quite  sure,  dear  %  Have  this 
other  cushion." 

No,  thanks.  I  have  more  than  enough 
cushions.  The  only  thing  I  want  now  is  to 
hear  the  story  of  how  Basil  met  his  death  and 
how  my  hand  was  stayed  from  killing  you." 

Very  will,  I  will  continue." 

After  I  slipped  to  the  ground  in  despair 
I  saw  you  advance  with  the  knife  in  your 
hand  and  that  terrible  look  on  your  face 
which  made  me  so  afraid.  Just  as  your  arm 
was  raised  and  I  had  given  up  all  hope,  a 
marvellous  change  came  over  your  face.  It 
resumed  its  old  expression,  and  I  knew  that 
the  influence  had  left  you.  You  simply 
smiled  at  me  and  swooned. 

After  I  had  recovered  a  little  from  the 

terrible  shock  I  became  mad  with  Reska, 
and  could  not  rest  until  I  had  once  and  for 
all  stopped  his  wicked  practice.  Rushing 
round  to  his  house  I  discovered  the  reason 
of  your  sudden  release  from  his  power. 
Fate  had  taken  the  matter  out  of  my  hands, 
for  he  was  already  dead.  A  fellow  of 
Basil's  temperament  was  naturally  fond  of 
weird  and  curious  animals,  and  it  appears 
that  an  old  friend  of  his  in  India  had  sent 
him  a  poisonous  snake  which  had  not  had 
its  fangs  drawn.  Quite  unknown  to  Basil 
the  thing  had  got  loose,  but  he  was  far  too 
engrossed  in  exerting  his  mesmeric  power 
over  you  to  notice  anything  that  was  passing 
around  him.  Crawling  on  the  table  the 
snake  struck  him  full  in  the  face  just  at  the 
moment  when  you  were  about  to  plunge 
the  dagger  into  my  heart.  Of  course,  with 
his  death  the  spell  was  broken,  and  you 
became  master  of  yourself  again." 
"  Oh,  how  horrible,  Eric." 
"  Yes,  dear,  but  he  brought  it  on  himself." 
"  We  won't  say  unkind  things  now,  Eric. 
All  the  misery  through  which  we  have  passed 
has  only  brought  us  closer  together,  and  in 
the  delight  of  the  bright  and  happy  future 
which  stretches  before  us  we  can  forgive 
even  Basil  Reska  the  harm  which  he  tried 
to  do  us." 

These  Good  Old  Days. 

By  Evan  Stro?ig.     Illustrated  by  Sys. 

|E  mourn  the  passing  of  the  good 
old  times.  I  wonder  if  in  fifty 
years  to  come  the  screen- 
actor  will  clothe  himself  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  in  regret 
for  the  convivial  days  of  the 
present,  which  will  then  have  passed  into  the 
old  lumber  box  of  the  things  that  have 
been  1  It  is  a  merry  life,  this  of  the  screen- 
actor,  hung  to-day  and  pushed  over  a 
hu  ndred-f  eet 

canyon    to-mor- 

row;  but  what's  | 
the  worry  1  In- 
surance policies 
stand  good,  and 
the  next  man's 
feet  are  not  too 
big  for  your 
shoes.  That  is 
the  philosophy 
of  the  screen- 
actor  ;  to  the 
quarter -sessions 
with  old  Scho- 
penhauer and 
his  measly  phil- 
osophy of  pessi- 
mism ;  will  or 
no  will,  satisfac- 
tion  or  the 
reverse,  we  are 
a  band  of  opti- 

mists, else  there 
would  be  UD 

Padding  along  a  dusty  road,  dreaming  as 
the  wanderer  dreams  of  good  beer  and 
walloping  big  cheeses,  a  spider-legged,  three- 
weeks-to-a -shave,  blotting-paper-tongued  loon 
got  a  swollen  nose  from  a  big  red  fist  for 
stopping  a  runaway  horse  with  a  trap  and  a 
young  lady  behind  it.  And  that  is  how  I 
came  to  join  the  '  movies." 

When  I  came  to,  a  hefty  johnny  asked 
me  politely  what  I  wanted  to  jump  up  like 
a  punch  and  judy  show  (only  that  was 
hardly  the  expression)  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  picture  and  necessitate  the  exposing 

of  another  couple  of  hundred  feet  of  film,  by 
the  Lord  Harry,  and  a  few  other  note- 
worthies  and  picturesque  celebrities. 

I  said  I  didn't  really  know,  which  was 
perfectly  true,  and  withal  in  the  circum- 
stances a  rather  witty  and  useful  remark. 

"  Do  you  know  we  are  taking  a  picture  1 " 
threatened  the  burly  one. 

"  Indeed,  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  I  reply. 
"  May  I  ask  where  you  are  taking  it  to,  if 

its  not  too  rude 
a  question  ■? " 

Mind  you  I 
was  not  entirely 
recovered  from 
the  avalanche. 
It  was  an  aval- 
anche, wasn't  it, 
or  was  it  a 
typhoon  1  And 
I  was  rather 
surprised  as  this 
being  an  artist 
who  might  be 
carrying  a  valu- 
able canvas  to 
an  exhibition, 
perhaps  a  pic- 
ture on  which 
he  pinned  his 
whole  fortune  in 
the  future.  I 
could  have  pin- 
ned all  my  hopes 
on  a  postage 
stamp  at  that 

''Where  was  I  taking  it  to — I  mean  a 
'  movie,'  you  silly  ass,"  bellowed  Mr.  Bull. 
I  could  have  sworn  his  name  was  Bull,  he 
was  a  picture  of  bovine  ferocity.  But  I  had 
no  answer  for  him.  "  Movie  "  beat  me  all 
out  and  I  felt  like  lying  down  and  never 
moving  again,  so  I  just  remarked  : 

"  If  you  would  inform  me  if  this  is  really 
my  nose  or  a  stray  balloon  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged."  You  see  I  was  suffering 
badly  from  the  success  of  my  first  entrance 
into  pictures  and  was  a  bit  swollen-headed, 


Pardon  me  ! 



though  the  swelling  was  localised. 

Mr.  Bull  seemed  fairly  flabber- 
gasted and  left  me  for  a  hurried 
consultation  with  his  somewhat 
nondescript  friends.  Sooner  or 
later  he  returned  and  planting 
himself  before  me  firmly  on  two 
legs  he  said  : 

"  Say,  young  feller-me-lad,  do 
you  want  a  job  ?  " 

That  was  adding  insult  to 
injury,  but  recollections  of  what 
had  passed  led  me  to  acquiesce, 
and  from  that  day  onward  I  have 
been  a  "  movie "  actor ;  and  I 
tell  you  honestly  a  furniture  dealer 
■could  not  have  done  more  moving 
than  I  have  since  my  answer  to 
that  simple  question.  Talk  of 
rapid  transits,  there's  nothing 
comparable  to  the  movie  "  man's 
existence  for  that.  Once  I  re- 
member I  moved  from  the  sixth 
storey  to  the  ground — through  being  mis- 
taken for  the  dummy — in  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  record  it,  and  when  I  came  out  of 
hospital  I  sailed  across  the  Atlantic  between 
two  scenes  and  we  finished  the  picture  the 
same  day. 

No  doubt  there  are  a  few  aspirants  who 
read  these  lines  seeking  for  a  tip  as  to 
methods  of  procedure  and  training  for 
picture  actors.  Let  me  tell  them  one  thing: 
The  Order  of  the  Boot  makes  a  deep  im- 
pression and  it  is  not  infrequently  awarded. 
Still,  there's  a  chance  for  you,  but  you  must 
practise  and  train.  Don't  fiddle  with  your 
collar,  young  aspirant — you'll  get  a  tighter 
one  some  day  when  you  join  the  "movies." 
First  of  all,  if  you  are  a  '  heavy  "  you  must 
practise   being  landed   on    the   point   by  a 

"  Falling  doesn't  hurt  one." 

fellow  four  times  your  size  and  still  be  able 
to  smile  sinisterly  in  the  next  scene  ;  second- 
ly, you  must  learn  to  fall  off  a  motor-car 
going  at  eighty  miles  an  hour,  and  such 
things  too  numerous  to  mention,  as  they 
say  in  catalogues.  But  let  us  leave  this  for 
to-night.  Suffice  it  that  the  "  movie " 
actor's  life  is  full  of  possibilities  and  sudden 
stops.  To-day  has  passed  and  you're  not  in 
hospital;  to-morrow,  well,  you  may  be  pushed 
over  yonder  cliff,  and  its  a  good  fifty  odd  feet 
drop  on  to  solid  rock.  But  what's  the  odds  1 
Falling  doesn't  hurt  one — it's  that  sudden 
stop  at  the  bottom  only  which  jars  so. 

No  doubt  in  fifty  years'  time  our  successors 
will  be  mourning  the  good  old  days  ;  and  we, 
we  are  optimists,  and  sufficient  for  the  day 
is  the  hospital  at  the  end  of  it. 

AT  a  picture  house  in  Glasgow  a  lady  had  the 
-^*-  misfortune  to  tear  her  skirt  against  a  piece 
of  iron  projecting  from  a  "  tip-up  "  seat. 
She  complained  bitterly  to  the  attendant  at  the 
front,  who  replied  :  "  I  am  very  sorry,  madam, 
but  I  don't  think  the  governor  is  responsible,  as 
you  will  see  by  the  notice  on  the  walls  that 
'  Seats  are  not  guaranteed.'  " 

t)RYANT  WASHBURN,  whose  face  is  so 
-■-'  familiar  to  the  public  as  the  villain  in 
Essanay  productions,  is  tired  of  wearing 
a  false  moustache  and  has  decided  to  grow  a  real 
one.  From  the  present  outlook  Bryant  will  be 
wearing  a  false  one  for  some  time,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  is  using  every  possible  means  to 
coax  the  "  misplaced  eyebrow  "  along. 


Vjusily  engaged  in  a  powerful  six-part  pro- 
duction,  "  The  Phantom  of  the  Violin," 
after  which  they  will  feature  in  a  series  of  pictures 
"  My  Lady  RafHes,"  with  Miss  Grace  as  My  Lady. 

VICTOR  POTEL,  the  famous  "  Slippery  Slim" 
of    the   Essanay   Western   Comedies,    has 
been   nick-named   "Six   O'Clock"  by  his 
friends.     He  is  straight  up  and  down  they  say. 

The  Call  of  the  Deep. 

Adapted   from    the    DANIA    Biofilm    Dixtnia 
by    Rosa    Beaulaire. 

The  hesitating  maid,  in  love  with  a  gallant 
lieutenant-diver,  marries  another  and  a  richer 
man,  but  regrets  her  mistake.  A  powerful 
story  of  a  woman's  anguish,  a  lover's  sacri- 
fice, and  how  understanding  came  to  her 
too  late. 

N  orphan  since  quite  small,  Eva 
Manning,  now  entering  on  her 
twenty-first  year,  looked  upon 
life  with  gentle  ease,  and 
thought  of  possible  romances 
and  ultimate  marriage  with 
complacency  as  part  of  the  purpose  of  living. 
True,  her  surroundings  were  scarcely  such  as 
to  arouse  very  deep  feeling  on  the  subject  of 
the  future.  Everything  was  calm  and  well- 
ordered  in  the  house  of  her  maiden  aunt :  the 
pair  had  a  sufficiency  to  live  comfortably  upon, 
and  nothing  ever  occurred,  or  seemed  likely 
to  occur,  to  rufile  the  smooth  surface  of  their 
every  day  existence. 

Eva,  sedate,  and  in  many  ways  a  charming 
girl,  had  her  lovers  :  one  a  fine  young  naval 
officer,  attached  to  the  divers'  division  for 
special  service ;  the  other  a  rich  young 
merchant,  whose  fortune  had  been  made  by 
his  father,  and  whose  business  ran  smoothly 
and  profitably  with  little  direction  from  its 

Summer  fled  with  the  two  dangling  after 
the  girl,  each  watching  the  other  and 
fearful  lest  the  one  should  gain  an  advantage. 
Winter  struck  down  the  feeble  old  aunt,  and 
with  the  spring  she  was  gathered  to  her 

The  shock  of  her  aunt's  death  re-acted 
terribly  on  Eva.  The  rich  youthful  blossoms 
fled  from  her  cheeks.  She  drooped  visibly, 
and  when  she  learnt  that  there  was  nothing 
left  to  her — the  old  aunt  had  hidden  her 
failing  financial  state,  trusting  in  a  good 
marriage  for  her  niece — Eva  thought  her 
cup  of  sorrow  was  full  to  overflowing.  She 
did  not  understand  that  she  of  all  others 
should  be  so  treated  by  fate.     She  could  not 

realise  that  thousands  suffered  at  fate's  hands 
worse  calamities  than  that  which  had  befallen 

Faced  with  poverty,  the  heart-broken  girl, 
her  home  sold  over  her  head,  sought  humble 
lodgings  in  the  town,  and  endeavoured  to  live 
on  the  few  pence  which  had  been  saved 
from  the  wreck.  She  allowed  all  thoughts  of 
Holmes,  the  rich  lover,  and  Lieut.  Hammond 
to  pass  from  her  mind  ;  but  they  had  not 
forgotten  her. 

It  was  a  soft  spring  morning,  with  a  balmy 
breeze  which  brought  scented  promise  of  a 
luxurious,  flower-bedecked  June,  when 
Gustave  Hammond,  off  duty  for  a  few  hours, 
took  it  into  his  head  that  he  had  let  enough 
time  slip  under  his  feet  to  satisfy  the 
proprieties,  and  that  this  morning  was 
opportune  to  press  his  suit  for  the  hand  of 
Eva.  Whistling  in  his  hope,  he  presented 
himself  at  the  house  where  Eva  had  taken 
refuge,  and  was  admitted. 

He  felt  confident,  and  gave  not  a  passing 
thought  that  possibly  she  would  raise  any 
objection  to  his  offer.  Like  tke  blunt  sailor 
he  was,  he  plunged  headforemost  into  action. 

"Miss  Manning — Eva,  I  have  come 
purposely  to  ask  an  important  question,"  he 
burst  out,  after  compliments  had  passed.  "I 
want  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  love  you,  and 
have  waited  long.  Will  you — can  you  say 

Eva  was  taken  off  her  guard,  but  she 
recovered  her  composure  rapidly. 

"  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  Mr.  Hammond,  but 
have  you  thought  seriously  of  my  position 

"  I  have  only  thought  that  I  love  you  and 



want  you  badly. 
What  do  I  care  for 
position ! " 

"  Yet  position  is  a 
matter  of  importance. 
Have  you  considered 
what  it  would  mean 
to  you,  who  are 
fighting  for  progress 
in  your  profession, 
to  be  tied  in  your 
actions  with  a  poor 
wife  1 " 

Eva  spoke  in  cal- 
culated tones  she 
was  far  from  feeling. 
In  her  heart  she  felt 
she  would  like  to 
yield  to  this  manly 
fellow,  but  she 
crushed  the  sensa 
tion.  She  must,  if 
she  married  at  all, 
marry  a  rich  man. 
She  could  not  stand 

"But — Eva,  how  can  that  affect  me 
anyway?"  cried  Hammond,  half  losing  heart. 
"  My  love  is  sufficient  to  overcome  all 
obstacles  if  you  love  me." 

"And  if  I  do  not  love  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  teach  you  to  if  you  will  marry  me," 
he  appealed. 

For  a  moment  Eva  was  impressed  by  his 
fervour,  but  she  recalled  herself  as  he  came 
forward  and  grasped  her  hand.  Drawing  her 
fingers  gently  away,  she  gave  him  his  answer: 
No,  it  is  useless.  I  must  marry  a  rich 
man.  Indeed,  I  have  determined,  if  I  marry 
ever,  to  marry  a  man  who  can  give  me  all 
the  luxury  and  comfort  I  want.  I  am  sorry, 
very  sorry  if  it  hurts  you,  but  it  cannot  be." 
Is  that  your  last  word?  Can't  you  give 
me  a  little  hope  to  come  again  later  1 "  cried 
Hammond,  heart-broken. 

I'm  afraid  not.  You  must  think  no  more 
about  it.  It  is  impossible.  Still,  let  us 
be  friends,"  said  Eva,  turning  to  him  with  a 
forced  smile  and  extending  her  hand. 

Hammond  was  beaten  and  broken.  He 
took  the  small  hand  held  out  to  him  and  tried 
to  smile.  But  the  effort  was  a  ghastly  failure 
and  he  fled  from  the  house. 

Not  long  afterwards  he  heard  that  Eva  was 
betrothed  to  rich  George  Holmes,  and  he 
understood.  Yet  he  felt  that  she  did  not 
love  the  man  she  had  accepted — and  he  was 

"He  dropped  over  the  side  and  disappeared  below  the  waters." 

right.  Poor  Eva  had  been  guided  by  other 
motives  than  love.  Though  she  hardly  realised 
it,  her  heart  was  in  Gustave  Hammond's 
keeping,  and  she  was  to  learn  later  how  fast 
the  unseen  bonds  of  love  were  between  them. 
Sheloved,butdid  not  know  it — like  others,  she 
could  not  appreciate  love  or  distinguish  it 
from  liking.  Fate  was  to  teach  her  in  its 
heartless,  inexorable  way. 

*  +  * 

A  large  yacht  was  scudding  across  the  blue 
bay  where  Hammond's  vessel,  from  which 
diving  operations  were  being  directed,  was 
anchored.  As  it  flew  past,  running  swiftly 
before  a  strong  wind,  a  handkerchief  was 
waved.  Lieut.  Hammond,  who  had  picked 
out  the  yacht  with  his  glasses,  returned 
the  compliment,  and  the  yacht  altered  its 
course.  It  was  Holmes'  vessel,  and  he  was 
carrying  off  his  bride  for  a  h-jneymoon  trip. 
In  a  few  moments  they  were  within  hail,  and 
Hammond  invited  the  yacht  party  aboard. 
The  sails  were  run  down  and  theyachtbrought 
to,  while  a  dinghy  put  out  from  its  side 
and  made  for  the  diving  vessel.  Five  minutes 
later  George  Holmes  and  his  bride  stepped 

"  Welcome  aboard  the  old  tub,"  cried 
Hammond  ;  "  and  let  me  congratulate  you, 
George."  Holmes  was  an  old  friend.  And 
my  compliments  to  the  bride,"  turning  to 



Watching  Hammond  closely  she  detected 
a  bitterness  in  his  words,  which  Holmes 
failed  to  observe,  and  when  the  latter 
turned  for  a  chat  with  the  mate,  an  old 
crony,  about  matters  nautical,  Eva  felt 
embarrassed  and  nervous  alone  in  the  lieu- 
tenant's company. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  stroll  round  the  ship  1 " 
said  Hammond,  while  George  takes  a 
a  lesson  from  Williams  in  navigation." 

"If  you  like,  yes,"  she  answered,  half- 
fearing  her  old  lover's  attitude.  Parted 
from  him  she  felt  her  love  welling  up  from 
her  heart,  and  she  was  afraid. 

They  only  went  a  few  steps  when 
Hammond  halted  and  took  her  hand. 

"Eva,  you  have  sold  yourself  for  wealth. 
You  love  me,  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes,"  he 
said,  gently. 

"And  if  I  do  it  is  too  late  now.  Why  do 
you  mention  it  when  you  must  know  it 
hurts  1 "  she  answered,  sadly. 

'  It  hurts  me  also,  but  I  had  to  learn  the 
truth  from  you.  I  loved  you — and  still  love 
you  so  dearly,  Eva." 

"  Yes,    I    know;    oh,   I  know "    She 

could  say  no  more,  her  emotion  overcame  her, 
and  she  could  scarcely  retain  her  composure. 
Her  fingers  played  with  a  magnificent 
bracelet  which  adorned  her  wrist.  As  she 
played  with  it  the  clasp  came  open  and  it 
lay  loose  in  her  hand. 







f  -^ 




^^^^^•^      ^K^  ..Jifl 

'  1 










"  That  hand  held  the  bracelet  :  he  had  brought  it  back  to  her 
in  exchange  for  his  life." 

"a  wedding  gift  from  George  ?  "  queried 
Hammond,  vaguely  and  for  no  reason,  as  he 
gazed  at  the  jewel. 

"  Yes.  Oh,  Gustave,  I  am  broken-hearted," 
she  cried  passionately.  '  I  hate  his  gifts — 
they  are  to  me  as  signs  of  bondage."  With  a 
vicious  gesture  she  threw  the  bracelet  over 
the  side  of  the  ship  before  Hammond  could 
prevent  her,  and  at  the  moment  Holmes 
came  up. 

For  a  second  he  halted  beside  them  as  if 
doubtful  of  the  attitude  of  the  two. 
Hammond  caught  sight  of  him  immediately, 
and  with  ready  wit  sought  to  shield  Eva. 

"  It  slipped  off  accidentally  as  Mrs.  Holmes 
was  leaning  over  the  side,"  he  stammered. 
"  What  ?  "  asked  Holmes. 
"  The  bracelet.  But  I  noticed  Avhere  it 
fell.  We  have  a  diving  suit  aboard  and  I 
will  recover  it."  Then  turning  to  the 
trembling  bride  :  "  Don't  fear,  Mrs.  Holmes, 
I  shall  easily  find  it — the  water  is  not  deep 

Calling  his  handymen  he  had  the  diving 
suit  brought  and  quickly  donned  it.  Seeing 
everything  in  order  he  dropped  over  the  side 
and  disappeared  below  the  waters. 

Twoor  three  minutes  passed  —they  seemed 
like  hours  to  Eva,  who  was  overwhelmed 
with  her  sorrow.  Now,  and  now  only,  did 
she  realise  what  she  had  lost — what  a  great 
possession  she  had  sold  for  riches.  In  her 
pain  she  wrung  her 
hands,  and  the  nails 
dug  deep  into  the 
flesh  as  in  the  agony 
of  the  waiting  she 
endeavoured  to  con- 
trol her  emotion. 

Of  a  sudden  a  cry 
struck  her  ear,  as 
from  a  distance. 
Someone  had  shouted 
that  the  air  pump 
had  failed.  What 
did  it  mean  1  She 
flew  to  the  side. 

The  men  in  the 
boat  were  hauling  in 
the  ropes  attached 
to  the  diver  for  all 
they  were  worth. 
Fascinated  and 
she  watched  the 
huge  helmet  appear 
above  the  water  and 



the  willing  hands 
stretch  out  to  drag 
the  inert  mass  into 
the  boat.  They 
brought  him  aboard 
the  ship.  He  never 
moved  as  they  laid 
him  out  on  the  deck 
and  hastily  unfast- 
ened the  helmet. 
Then  the  truth 
flashed  upon  her. 
She  found  her  voice 
in  her  terror. 

"Is  he  dead? 
Don't  say  he  is  dead," 
she  cried,  and  rushed 
to  the  side  of  the 
silent  diver.  "  He 
is  not  dead.  Tell  me 
he  is  not  dead,"  she 
moaned,  as  she  took 
one  of  the  cold 

That  hand  held  the  bracelet.  He  had 
brought  it  back  to  her  in  exchange  for  his 
life.  For  Hammond  had  died  under  water 
when  the  air  gave  out. 

Holding  up  the  bracelet,  Eva  fell  half- 
fainting  across  the  body  of  the  dead  man, 
moaning  her  love  and  endeavouring  to  call 
him  back  to  life. 

With  gentle  arms  her  husband  raised  her 
and  led  her  away.  He  could  not  be  angry, 
though  all  happiness  for  him  had  fled. 

*  =f:  * 

That  night,  as  she  lay  in  her  richly  cap- 
arisoned bed  on  the  yacht,  the  voice  of  her 
lover  called  to  Eva  from  the  waters.  He 
called  her  to  throw  off  her  dearly  bought 
bondage  and  come  to  him.     In  her  dreams 

"  To  her  who  could  not  understand  had  come  eternal  romance. 

she  saw  him  beckon  her,  and  she  stretched 
out  her  arms  to  greet  him.  Dreaming,  she 
rose  to  go  to  him.  He  led  her  on  up  to  the 
deck,  and  the  cold  wind  blew  through  her 
flimsy  garb,  but  she  did  not  notice  the  cold — 
she  belonged  not  to  the  earth,  and  was 
subject  to  none  of  the  discomforts  of  man.  She 
walked,  still  guided  by  her  lover's  voice,  to 
the  bow  of  the  yacht.  His  face  appeared  on 
the  surface  of  the  water  below  and  smiled 
in  welcome.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  in 
yearning.  He  called  again,  bidding  her 
come  to  him  for  ever.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  poised  between  heaven  and  the  sea. 
Then  there  was  a  splash — she  had  gone  to 
her  lover  !  To  her  who  could  not  understand 
had  come  eternal  romance. 


JUDGING  by  the  numerous  enquiries  that  come  to  hand  from  interested  readers  who  ask 
for  the  names  of  (he  players  in  their  favourite  films,  we  gather  that  the  present  number 
will  be  much  appreciated,  as  we  are  enabled  to  include  the  cast  with  nearly  every  story. 
We   are  always   pleased    to    have    expressions   of   opinion  from   our    friends    calculated   to 

NEXT  month's  issue  will  contain  a  powerful  story  of  the  two-act  Kalem  film  drama,  "The 
Potter  and  the  Clay,"  featuring  Marin  Sais;  an  interesting  "  Flying  A  "  number,  "The 
Cocoon  and  the  Butterfly,"  featuring  Miss  Vivian  Rich  and  Jack  Richardson;  an 
Edison  romance,  "  The  One  Who  Loved  Him  Best,"  starring  Bigelow  Cooper,  Marjorie 
Ellison  and  Herbert  Prior  ;  and  the  first  instalment  of  a  most  enthralling  Lasky  serial,  "  The 
Call  of  the  North,"  with  Bessie  Barriscale  in  the.  cast.  Also  supplement  portraits  of  Marin 
Sais,  Little  Kathie  Fischer  the  "Beauty"  Juvenile  lead,  Hal  Clements  (Kalem),  Bigelow 
Cooper  (Edison),  Winifred  Kingston,  who  figures  in  the  Lasky  film  "  Brewster's  Millions,"  etc. 

On  tfie^creen 


Mr.  Strong  has  for  several  years  been  connected  with  one 
of  the  largest  houses  in  the  Film  Trade.  In  his  monthly 
article  this  keen  observer  discusses  happenings  in  the 
Picture  World  and  gives  his  ideas  and  suggestions  which, 
supported  by  such  practical  experience,  prove  valuable 
and  instructive  reading. 

^OME  years  ago  I  wrote  in  a 
newspaper  an  article  on  the 
people's  picture  gallery — the 
poster  hoardings.  It  was  at 
the  time  of  a  general  election 
and  the  man  in  the  street  was 
being  coaxed  by  the  finest  examples  of 
poster-artist  work  in  this  country  to  give  his 
vote  for  this  or  that  party.  And  I  don't 
know  but  that  the  party  which  engaged  the 
best  artist  did  not  gain  materially  by  the 
utilisation  of  his  work.  An  appeal  is  an 
appeal,  and  the  strongest  to  a  mixed  public 
is  not  cast-iron  facts,  but  the  Lloyd  Georgean 
touch  which  arouses  sentiment.  But  I  am 
far  from  thinking  of  politics  and  parties — I 
am  among  the  cinemas,  on  the  outside. 
Posters  form  a  great  part  of  the  cinemas' 
publicity  campaign.  They  are  intended  to 
appeal  to  sentiment  and  arouse  interest. 
Yet  how  often  do  we  see  posters  which  from 
their  very  crudeness  repulse  rather  than 
attract;  posters  which  may  well  have  come 
from  the  old  travelling  showman's  stock,  with 
the  fat  lady  in  gaudy  tights,  and  cannibals 
typifying  no  race  on  this  earth.  They  drag 
cinematography  down  to  the  level  of  the 
"penny  gaff,"  and  are  an  insult  to  those  who 
think  of  the  cinema's  purpose  in  a  higher  way. 
*         +       + 

AMONGST  these  "throw-backs,"  how- 
ever, it  is  a  pleasure  to  notice  here 
and  there  posters  of  a  better  class, 
with  the  unmistakeable  stamp  of  the  artist 
on  them.  These  tell  a  story  and  the 
theatre  which  exhibits  them  calls  in 
doubting  patrons  in  greater  numbers  than 
does  that  which  pastes  its  front  up  with  the 
cheap  and  nasty  variety.  The  manager  who 
studies  the  effects  of  his  posters  soon  realises 
that  the  better  ones  draw  a  better  class  of 

patron,  and,  taking  for  granted  his  pro- 
gramme holds  good,  this  patronage  increases. 
He  never  goes  back  to  the  slap-dash  stuff 
merely  because  it  is  cheaper — it  doesn't  pay 
him.  Here  is  where  you,  dear  reader,  can 
do  a  deal  for  cinematography.  Avoid  the 
poor-poster  cinema;  you  want  better  pictures, 
and  you  can  be  sure  that  good  posters  are  a 
safer  index  to  a  good  programme.  By 
supporting  the  highest  in  its  relation  to 
cinematography,  a  steady  improvement  all 
round  will  be  brought  about  simply  by  the 
influence  of  the  pressure,  passive  though  it 
may  appear.  And  we  all  want  improvement; 
no  one  with  a  real  interest  in  cinematography 
wishes  to  see  it  sink  to  the  level  of  the 
penny  peep  show. 

IT  would  seem  that  British  manufacturers 
are  awake  to  the  opportunity  which 
presents  itself  at  the  moment,  and  not 
only  are  the  old-established  British  film 
producers  working  at  top  speed  to  place  on 
the  market  films  which  will  fill  the  gaps  left 
by  the  extensive  stoppage  of  foreign  import- 
ations, but  new  manufacturing  companies 
are  springing  up  eager  to  take  the  advantage 
which  offers.  Best  of  good  luck  to  them. 
We  have  waited  for  British  capitalists  to 
awaken  to  the  fact  that  a  splendid  and 
profitable  industry  is  slipping  from  their 
grasp  for  lack  of  support.  The  foolish  idea 
that  Britain  could  not  produce  films  as  good 
as  those  sent  from  abroad  on  account  of  the 
climate  was  absolutely  exploded  when  the 
Imp  Company  came  over  and  made  "ivanhoe" 
at  Chepstow  Castle,  and  when  the  London 
Film  Company  and  others  commenced  put- 
ting out  their  popular  subjects.  We  slept 
and  let  others  take  our  money — now  we 
realise    we   have   a   big   chance,   and    it   is 



gratifying  to  note  that  this  chance  is  being 
seized  with  both  hands.  There  is  a  demand 
for  British  films  because — when  well  pro- 
duced— they  are  more  in  accordance  with 
British  taste.  We  realise  that  now — but 
why  did  we  not  realise  it  earlier  1 
*         *         + 

IF  you  would  realise  the  advance  of  cine- 
matography you  must  watch  the 
theatres — not  only  the  picture  halls 
but  legitimate  theatres.  The  war  has  caused 
a  money  stringency,  and  of  all  amusements, 
perhaps  the  theatrical — classic,  drama  and 
comedy^ — is  feeling  the  pinch  most.  Yet  the 
cinemas  everywhere  are  full  to  overfloAving. 
In  this  instance,  the  easy  adaptability  of  the 
cinema  is  partly  the  cause  of  its  success.  But 
this  is  not  the  only  sign — there  is  another, 
more  important,  and  that  in  Islington,  where 
after  a  century  and  a  half  of  vicissitudes 
as  Shakespearean  andmelodramahouse,  music 
hall  and  boxing  saloon,  the  old  Sadler's  Wells 
Theatre  has  turned  to  the  pictures  and  has 
brought  back  to  itself  some  of  the  lustre  it 
gloried  in  when  Samuel  Phelps  achieved  his 
successes  there  in  classic  parts — 1842-62. 
Sadler's  Wells  Theatre  was  built  in  1765  and 
had  a  century  or  more  of  varying  success. 
During  the  past  few  decades  its  fame  has 
been  out-shone.  Attempts,  some  admirable, 
some  paltry,  were  made  to  revive  its  attraction, 
and  now  at  last  it  has  opened  its  arms  to  the 

pictures.     Is  this  not  a  sign  of  the  times  *? 
+  *  * 

IN  his  eflForts  to  convince  the  world  that  he 
aiid  his  soldiers  are  really  angels  of 
peace,  the  Kaiser  has  managed  some  new 
stage  effects  in  his  usual  inimitable  style. 
There  is  no  one  to  touch  Wilhelm  as  an  actor 
on  the  stage  of  the  world,  and  as  a  quick- 
change  artiste  he  is  unapproachable.  I 
have  seen  him  at  the  head  of  his  guards 
suggesting  that,  as  ruler  of  all  he  desired, 
the  sun  only  shone  to  increase  his  splendour. 
I  have  seen  him  in  the  street  with  his 
aides-de-camps  smiling  the  smile  of  innocence 
and  peace.  But  these  were  merely  roles 
— yet  he  played  them  well.  When  the 
war  broke  out  Wilhelm  ordered  that  cinema- 
tographists  should  follow  the  troops  to  take 
pictures  which  would  reveal  to  neutral 
nations,  not  the  glory  of  the  German  army,  so 
much  as  the  loving  attitude  adopted  by  the 
men  towards  non-combatants  of  the  enemy 
and  the  welcome  they  received  in  the  villages 
and  towns.  In  Brussels,  for  instance,  they 
were    photographed    with    women    waving 

handkerchiefs  from  windows.  It  was  well 
stage-managed — we  know  that.  But  at 
Louvain  they  have  said  they  were  met  with 
rifle-shots,  and  certainly,  after  the  destruction 
of  the  place  following  on  a  drunken  quarrel, 
the  pictures  of  the  Kaiser's  Schweinebunde 
(any  German  will  tell  you  what  it  means,  if 
he  doesn't  die  of  apoplectic  rage  when  you 
mention  it)  goose-stepping  through  the  ruins 
show  no  handkerchief-waving  or  any  other 
sign  of  welcome.  Perhaps  the  sceptical 
attitude  of  neutrals  has  proved  to  the  Kaiser 
that  his  posing  and  posturing  is  weak,  and  his 
stage  managing  faulty,  because  exaggerated  ; 
for  all  ph Dtographers  have  been  driven  away 
from  the  German  troops,  and  in  future  no 
correspondent,  painter,  or  photographer  will 
be  allowed  with  the  German  forces. 
*  *  + 

I  QUOTE  from  an  American  writer  : — "  I 
cannot  conceive  of  any  finer  mission  of 
moving  pictures  than  that  of  dis- 
seminating the  truth.  The  tremendous 
error  now  being  made  in  the  Old 
World  has  grown  out  of  primitive  resistance 
to  enlightenment.  It  is  almost  inconceivable 
that  this  or  that  family  should  be  permitted  to 
hold  authority  on  self-assured  'divine  right.'  " 
The  writer  sets  himself  a  two-fold  messager 
first,  to  point  out  to  Germans,  who  cannot 
understand  America's  lack  of  sympathy,  the 
reasons  of  America's  attitude  during  the 
war;  and  secondly,  to  show  how  motion 
pictures  should  take  the  place  of  historical 
books  and  general  literature  in  creating 
universal  understanding.  America'sattitudeis 
strictly  neutral,  even  pictures  being  produced 
teach  neutrality  and  avoid  incidents  which 
might  incite  racial  antagonism.  Germans 
misinterpret  this,  and  the  writer  points 
out  that  they  do  not  understand  the 
American  people,  and  have  but  a  dim  idea 
of  how  the  nation  came  into  existence 
Germans  go  to  America  in  quest  of  better 
conditions  than  they  have  enjoyed  at  home, 
and  finding  members  of  other  nations  doing 
the  same  thing,  begin  to  draw  unsound 
inferences,  which  are  fostered  by  lack  of 
the  right  information.  Historical  pictures, 
correctly  produced,  would  do  a  lot  towards 
introducing  the  true  idea.  Pictures  are 
operating  to  build  up  character — when  they 
arouse  the  right  feeling  they  become  a  factor 
in  building  up  national  character.  This 
appears  to  be  such  excellent  advice  that  I 
risk  amplifying  it  here.  If  historical  pictures 
are  produced  at  all,  and  also  pictures  which 



depict   in    one    way    or    another    national 
character,  the  producer  should,  in  fairness 
to    the    picture    patron,    take    the    greatest 
pains  to  avoid  conveying  a  misconception. 
*  *  + 

IN  1903  H.  G.  Wells  wrote  :  "For  lack 
of  sufficient  literature  a  number  of  new 
social  types  are  developing,  ignorant  of 
each  other,  ignorant  almost  of  themselves, 
full  of  mutual  suspicions  and  mutual  mis- 
understandings ;  narrow,  limited,  and  danger- 
ously incapable  of  intelligent  collective 
action  in  the  face  of  crises." 

If  you  will  put  in  this  sentence  cinema- 
tography" for  "literature,"  you  will  imme- 
diately grasp  what  I  am  driving  at.  If  before 
the  war  we  could  have  placed  before  the 
German  people  pictures  revealing  the  char- 
acter of  our  nation,  its  history  and  growth, 
and  the  reasons  for  its  growth  to  greatness, 
the  intelligent  body  of  that  country  would 
have  repudiated  what  we  see  to-day — the 
effort,  on  the  Kaiser's  orders,  to  crush 
"  French's  contemptible  little  army."  The 
German  army  and  people  thought  it  could  be 
done  as  easily  as  said,  because  they  had  no 
reason  to  believe  otherwise — they  had  not 
seen  that  French's  army  was  not  made  to  be 
crushed.  Again,  had  pictures  of  our  history, 
truly  produced,  been  common  in  Germany, 
there  would  have  been  no  talk  of  a  scrap 
of  paper,"  because  it  would  have  been 
realised  that  a  pledge  with  us  is  a  solemn 
thing.  But  Germany  could  not  understand 
why  we  fought  for  the  preservation  of  our 
pledge,  for  the  German  sees  in  "a  scrap  of 
paper  "  a  pledge  which  is  binding  so  long  as 
it  is  favourable,  but  should  policy  require 
evasion,  then  renunciation  becomes  a  piece 
of  business  acumen.  In  such  manner  are 
all  contracts  held  in  Germany,  and  as  the 
German  doesn't  know  the  Britisher,  he  is 
dumbfounded  at  his  attitude  in  regard  to 
his  undertaking  when  that  attitude  involves 
danger  and  serious  discomfort. 
+  •         *  * 

THE  American  writer  maintains  that 
pictures  should  be  a  universal  vehicle 
for  creating  mutual  understanding. 
Literature  will  never  do  this — so  far-reaching 
as  its  scope  is.  The  pictures,  however,  go  to 
the  masses  and  explain,  in  a  primitive  way, 
by  action  what  is  to  be  explained.  Had  we 
British  understood  the  German  character, 
we  would  not  have  put  too  much  reliance  in 
the    signature    to    the    Belgian    neutrality 

treaty;  we  should  have  been  prepared  for 
floating  mines  and  the  "  lie  campaign  ;"  and 
vice-versa,  the  Germans  would  have  had  no 
doubts  as  to  what  the  invasion  of  Belguim 
entailed,  and  the  clarion  call  which  sounded 
throughout  the  British  Empire  when  the 
story  of  Mons  was  told. 

"  The  only  thing  that  can  put  the  mass  of 
intelligent  men  upon  a  common  basis  of 
understanding  is  an  abundant  and  almost 
universally  influential  contemporary  litera- 

THE  attempted  boycott  of  German 
films  may  be  sound  from  a  business 
point  of  view,  but  I  doubt  if  from 
our  side,  that  is  the  cinema-goer's  side,  it  is 
common-sense.  If  you  desire  to  see  a 
"  thunder  "  film,  if  you  wish  no  other  kind, 
stick  out  for  the  British  variety  every  time; 
but  if  you  attend  the  cinema  for  a  double 
purpose,  as  you  should  do,  for  amusement 
and  information,  the  really  serious  German 
work  should  be  studied.  We  are  fighting 
the  Germans,  and  it  would  do  us  good  to 
study  them.  All  have  not  had  the  chance 
to  go  to  Germany  and  gain  their  knowledge 
of  the  German  first-hand,,  therefore  those 
who  have  not  been  so  lucky  should  make 
the  most  of  the  pictures.  Watch  the  actions 
of  German  players  closely,  follow  out  the 
course  of  the  plot  and  try  to  reason  out  the 
motives  behind  it.  You  will  get  an  idea  of 
of  how  the  German  brain  works,  and  of  the 
principles  which  govern  the  German.  You 
will  come  to  understand  some  of  the  meaning 
of  what  I  have  written  in  a  previous  para- 
graph, because  what  I  have  said  will  be 
evident  in  the  motives  which  underlie  the 
actions  in  the  film. 

With  regard  to  the  boycott  of  cinemas 
supported  by  German  capital,  I  think  the 
least  said  soonest  mended.  I  would  not  go 
into  one  knowingly  myself,  but  an  organised 
boycott  —  well,  individuals  surely  should 
know  what  to  do  in  such  a  case,  always 
remembering  that  the  '  silver  bullet  "  plays 
a  great  and  decisive  part  in  modern  warfare. 

WHY  not  send  your  old  copy  of  the 
"  Picture    Stories    Magazine "    to 
Thomas  Atkins,  Esq.,  at  the  Fronf? 
He  would    dearly  like  to   pass    the  weary 
hours  of   waiting  in    the   trenches    with   a 
readable  magazine  on  his  knees. 

With  the  Players 

"Oh  bright-eyed,  brown-haired,  laughing  maid. 
At  nought  dismayed,  of  nought  afraid. 
How  many  times  your  face  I've  seen 
Upon  the  motion  picture  screen.  " 

"ly/TARY  PICKFORD,  to  whom  the  above 
-^'-'-  refers,  seems  ever  welcome  to  ovir  readers, 
either  on  the  screen  or  in  print,  therefore 
we  are  including  her  in  a  new  pose  in  our 

This  pretty  "  star,"  known  as  the  "Queen  of 
the  Movies  "  and  the  idol  of  two  continents,  was 
torn  at  Toronto,  Canada,  on  April  8th,  1894,  and 
is  therefore  just  over  twenty  years  of  age.  Her 
husband  is  Mr.  Owen  Moore.  She  commenced 
her  career  on  the  stage  at  the  age  of  five. 
Among  the  first  characters  she  portrayed  was 
that  of  little  "Eva"  in  "Uncle  Tom's 
•Cabin."  Later,  "  Little  Mary  "  took  to  pictures, 
and  immediately  jumped  into  the  front  rank  of 
film  favourites,  but  her  greatest  triumphs  were 
reserved  for  the  Famous  Players  pictures, 
commencing  with  "A  Good  Little  Devil,"  pro- 
duced by  David  Belasco.  From  this  onward 
Miss  Pickford  played  the  leading  parts  in  pro- 
ductions suitable  to  her  special  talents,  enabling 
her  to  "  shine  "  with  greater  brilliance  than  ever. 
Her  salary  is  stated  to  be  £200  weekly. 

It  was  little  Mai-y's  dearest  wish  to  visit  the 
United  Kingdom  this  summer,  and  arrangements 
had  been  made  to  this  effect,  but  to  the  dis- 
appointment of  thousands  of  her  admirers  the 
War  made  the  visit  inadvisable  for  the  present. 
Perhaps  later  on 

TV/TAX  FIGMAN,  the  celebrated  American 
■^'^-*-  actor,  was  born  in  Vienna  in  1868,  and 
made  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage  in 
1883.  After  he  had  "  starred  "  in  a  great  many 
well-known  plays  he  was  cast  for  the  leading 
part  in  the  famous  comedy-drama  "  The  Man  on 
the  Box,"  which  toured  the  States  with  tremen- 
dous success.  Naturally,  when  the  Lasky  Feature 
Play  Company  decided  to  film  this  famous  play, 
they  engaged  Max  Figman  and  his  wife  Lolita 
Robertson  to  play  the  leads. 

Another  actor  took  part  in  the  drama  whose 
talents  threatened  to  outshine  those  of  any  in 
the  cast,  the  actor  being  Max  Figman's  baby, 
which  won  the  hundred  per  cent,  prize  in  the 
"Woman's  World"  Babv  Contest,  and  is  just 
now  two  years  old.  The  proud  father  purchased 
a  print  of  the  picture  from  the  Lasky  Company, 

which  he  has  sealed  up,  and  which  will  be  given 
to  the  baby  on  its  fifteenth  birthday,  when  it 
will  have  an  opportunity  to  see  just  how  it  looked 
when  it  was  a  eugenically  perfect  specimen. 

ONE  day  five  years  ago  a  girl  from  a  small 
Thames-side  village  took  part  in  a  "mob 
scene  "  for  a  motion-picture  play.  She  was 
one  among  a  hundred  others.  The  director  who 
was  producing  the  play  had  employed  a  thousand 
like  her  in  similar  positions,  yet  in  spite  of  that 
she  stood  out  clearly  as  a  possible  star. 

Since  that  day  ALMA  TAYLOR  has  steadily  ad- 
vanced, till  now  she  is  easily  the  most  famous  of 
English  picture  girls.  Why  ?  In  the  answer  is 
to  be  found  not  only  the  key  to  this  romance  of 
the  films,  but  also  the  secret  of  all  greatness  in 
picture  playing  as  distinguished  from  the  stage. 
And  the  answer  is  :  Alma  Taylor  believed  the 
plays  she  played  in,  just  as  does  the  little  child 
who  "  pretends  "  she's  Cinderella. 

Not  one  girl  in  an  entire  county  has  that  gift. 
And  that  is  why  Alma  Taylor's  work  has  always 
been  so  remarkably  popular  wherever  British 
films  have  gone.  She  has  been  well-known  as 
Nancy  in  "Oliver  Twist,"  Margaret  in  "The 
Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  Molly  in  "Blind  Fate," 
Mad  Madge  in  "  The  Heart  of  Midlothian,"  and 
finally  as  Freda  in  "  The  Basilisk." 

T?  MIL  GREGERS,  the  handsome  and  intrepid 
-'--'     leading  actor  of  the  Danmark  Film  Com- 
pany, also  fills  the  same  capacity  in  the 
Royal  Opera  House,  Copenhagen. 

As  most  people  are  aware,  the  risks  run  by  a 
cinema  actor  are  sometimes  rather  big,  but  Mr. 
Gregers  seems  to  revel  in  such  parts  as  call  for 
any  amount  of  personal  risk,  as  will  readily  be 
seen  in  the  productions  in  which  he  figures, 
notably  in  "The  War  Correspondents,"  "For 
Ever,"  and  "  Through  Flames  to  Fame."  He  is 
a  most  versatile  actor,  often  rehearsing  comedy 
and  drama  on  the  same  day,  and  his  abilities  as  a 
comedy  actor  are  in  no  way  small,  but  when  he 
turns  to  his  favourite — drama — he  forgets  the 
woi-ld  and  throws  himself  whole-heartedly  into 
his  business. 

Up  to  the  time  of  going  to  press  he  is  still  un- 
married, but  as  so  many  of  the  fair  sex  lay  siege 
to  his  heart,  we  on  this  side  shall  never  be 
surprised  to  hear  of  his  marriage. 



in  aid  of 


OR  GOOD  OR  EVIL,  or  partly 
for  good  and  partly  for  evil, 
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signed  this  appeal  are  familiar 
to  readers  of  magazines  ;  the 
:names,  also  well  known  to  you,  of  many 
others,  our  brethren  in  the  craft  of  writing, 
might,  we  feel  sure,  have  been  added,  if  time 
had  allowed  of  their  sanction  being  obtained. 
Often — and  in  the  case  of  some  of  us  for 
more  years  than  we  care  to  reckon — it  has 
been  our  privilege  to  try  to  interest  you,  thrill 
you,  or  amuse  you.  We  and  our  fellow- 
writers  have  been  the  companions  of  your 
leisure,  your  resource  in  hours  of  ease,  some- 
times, perhaps,  your  diversion  and  solace  in 
seasons  of  weariness,  illness  or  trouble. 
Without  flattering  ourselves,  then,  we  may 
claim  to  have  been,  in  some  sense,  your  friends. 
And  you  have  been  good  and  faithful  friends 
to  us.  You  have  found  us  dull  and  dis- 
appointing sometimes,  no  doubt ;  and  you 
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pressed— opportunity  for  such  expression 
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and,  we  hope,  strong  enough  to  incline  you 
to  listen  to  us  when  we  speak  to  you  on  a 
matter,  not  of  diversion  or  amusement,  but 
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We  have  always  been  in  earnest  about  doing 
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As  probably  all  of  you  are  aware,  H.R.H. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  has  been  pleased  to 
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the  myriad  cases  of  hardship  and  distress  to 
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(we  hope)  by  a  like  courtesy  in  every  maga- 
zine published  in  the  kingdom.  It  rests 
with  you,  and  each  of  you,  by  sending  your 
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and  to  enable  us  to  offer,  in  your  names,  a 
splendid    contribution  to    the  Prince,    who 



himself  is  serving  the  country  so  zealousy  as 
soldier  and  citizen. 

Many  of  you,  no  doubt,  have  already  given 
to  the  Prince's  Fund,  but  many  others — able 
perhaps  to  do  only  a  little — will  have  found 
no  opportunity  that  seemed  apt  for  doing- 
even  vrhat  they  can.  Whether  you  have 
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Half-Crown.  Half-a-Crown  is  not  much  to 
the  well-to-do.  To  many  of  you,  we  know, 
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and  ungrudgingly,  to  the  limit  of  your  power, 
be  it  small  or  great.  Half-a-Crown  is  not 
much  in  itself,  but  you  number  tens  of 
thousands — aye,  hundreds  of  thousands. 
And  though  we  ask  but  one  Half-Crown  from 
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as  you  can  send.  If  the  richer  among  you 
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done  with,  why  not  pay  his  Half-Crown  for 

If  we  have  been  able  at  all  to  please  you, 
it  has  been,  thanks,  in  the  main,  to  the  gift 
of  imagination. 

You,  too,  have  that  gift.  Give  it  play 
now,  not  on  fictions,  but  on  realities. 
Picture  what  your  Half-Crowns  will 
mean — the    relief    of    suffering,    the    salva- 

tion of  homes,  the  protection  of  honest 
self-respect,  in  many  and  many  cases  the 
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has  worked  for  throughout  a  life  of  unresting 
labour  and  honourable  thrift.  Consider  what 
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and  sailors — the  knowledge  that  their  dear 
ones  will  be  cared  for,  that  -the  country  for 
Avhom  they  are  ready  to  give  their  lives  is 
not  unmindful  of  what  must  be  as  dear  to 
them  as  life  itself. 

The  trouble  strikes  far  and  deep;  the  need 
is  great  and  urgent.  But  you,  the  Magazine- 
Readers  of  the  Kingdom  and  the  Empire, 
are  a  mighty  host.  If  you  will,  you  can  do 
much,  and  in  your  generous  response  to  our 
appeal  we  shall  see  fresh  proof  of  your 
friendly  feelings  towards  us. 

Your  Half-Crowns  should  be  sent  to 
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Wc  are,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  your  faithful  and  grateful  servants  : 

J.  M.  Barrie. 
Arnold  Bennett. 
Hall  Caine. 
G.  K.  Chesterton. 
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CoNAN  Doyle. 
Charles  Garvice. 
Thomas  Hardy. 
Anthony  Hope. 
W.  W.  Jacobs. 
Jerome  K.  Jerome. 
Rudyard  Kipling. 
W.  J.   Locke. 

A.  E.  W.  Mason. 
Arthur  Morrison. 
E.  Philips  Oppenheim. 
Barry  Pain. 
Gilbert  Parker. 
Max  Pemberton. 
Eden   Phillpotts. 
H.  Hesketh  Pritchard. 
Arthur   Quiller-Couch. 
E.  Temple  Thurston. 
Mary  A.  Ward. 

(Mrs.   Humphry  Ward). 
Marriott  Watson. 

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CONTENTS    FOR    DECEMBER.    1914. 

VOLUME  111.     No.   16. 

Scene  from  THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH    (Lasky). 


Mr.  H.  B.  WARNER    ... 

Famous  Players 


THE   CALL   OF  THE    NORTH  ... 







TIME— THE    GREAT    HEALER    ... 


NOTE  :  These  stories  are  written  from  films  produced  by  Motion  Picture  Manufacturers 
and  our  writers  claim  no  credit  for  title  or  plot.     When  known   to  us,  the   name  of  the 
playwright  is  announced. 


Jesse  L.    Lasky 

..     201 

Flying  A 

..     217 

Flying  A 

..     222 


..     227 


..     233 

Famous  Players 

..     240 


..     249 


..     254 


..     262 



Evan  Strong 


PICTURE    STORIES    MAGAZINE    is    printed    and  published  by  The  Camberwell   Press,   Dugdale  Street 

Works,     London,    S.E.,    to    whom    applications    for    advertising    space    should    be    made.       Subscription    5/6, 

post    paid    to    any     address     in     the     United    Kingdom.       Single     copies    6d.   (including  postage). 

NOTICE     TO     CONTRIBUTORS:     MSS.    and    Drawings    must    be    submitted    at    owner's  risk,    and  the 
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MSS.  should  be  typewritten. 

HOW  2'6  BUYS  A 

Remarkable    Discovery  which    enables    every    Householder   to    Save 
many  Pounds  during  the  Winter. 

British    Aristocracy 

setting     splendid    Example 
using  "ANTHRANITE. " 

in     Economy     by 

Special  Test  Offer  to  Readers. 

Owins  to  the  perseverance  of  certain  researches,  it  has 
now  become  possible  to  deliver  to  you,  post  free  at  your 
own  house,  a  coal-saving  and  intensifying  substance  of  such 
wonderful  efficiency  that  it  makes  a  scuttle  of  coal  last  as 
long  as  two  would  in  the  ordinary  way,  whilst  it  also  im- 
proves the  coal  so  much  that  the  heat  thrown  out  is 
considerably  greater,  and  that  cheap  coal  or  a  mixture  of 
coal  and  coke  may  be  used  where  high-grade  coal  was 
formerly  necessary. 


Anthranite,  as  the  new  substance  is  called,  decreases  the 
coal  bill  of  any  flat,  house,  apartment,  factory,  hospital  or 
other  building  by  one-half  or  more,  so  that  it  is  easy  for  any 
Coal  User  to  save  from  £z  to  £20  during  the  next  few  months 
according  to  ordinary  rate  of  his  coal  consumption. 

Coal  which  has  once  been  "Anthranised "  retains  its 
double  strength  for  ever,  and  the  process  of  treating  the 
fuel  is  so  perfectly  simple  that  it  can  be  performed  without 
the  slightest  trouble  by  any  lady,  even  in  the  very  room  in 
which  the  coal  is  to  be  used. 

Amongst  the  many  advantages  of  Anthranite,  one  may 
specially  mention  the  following  : 

—Anthranite  is  perfectly  harmless  ;  it 
does  not  set  up  fumes  and  its  presence 
can  only  be  detected  by  the  greater  bright- 
ness and  heat  of  the  fire. 

—Anthranised  coal  lasts  twice  as  long  as 
ordinary  fuel. 

—A  fire  may  be  kept  in  for  any  length  of 


—An  enormous  saving  of   labour  results, 

for     the     fires      require      practically     no 


—  Cheap  coal,  or  a  mixture  of  coal  and 
coke,  may  be  used  where  high-grade  coal 
was  formerly  necessary. 

—Soot  and  smoke  are  greatly  decreased, 
and  the  fuel  burns  to  fine  ash. 
—"Anthranised"  kitchen  fires  make  far 
better  cooked  meals,  because  the  heat  in 
the  oven  is  perfectly  steady  witnout 

—  The  weekly  or  monthly  coal  bill  will  be 
reduced  by  one-half  or  more. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  people,  when  speaking  of 
Anthranite,  are  already  calling  it  "condensed  coal,"  and 
that  the  demand  for  this  wonderful  substance,  which  has 
been  placed  before  the  general  public  just  at  the  time  when 
economy  is  most  necessary,  is  growing  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
In  spite  of  this,  however,  orders  are  being  despatched 
practically  by  return  of  post,  as  special  arrangements  have 
been  made  to  turn  out  the  huge  quantities  demanded  daily. 

Anthranite  is  being  used  in  the  best  houses  in  Town  and 
Country,  in  Hospitals,  Institutions,  Clubs,  Banks,  and  I'ublic 
Offices.  Among  its  Patrons  are  to  be  found  the  names  of 
the  best  families  in  the  Kingdom,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  ere  long  it  will  have  become  as  ordinary  an 
article  of  daily  consumption  as  is  coal  itself.  So  great  is 
the  value  of  this  wonderful  suljstance  that  those  who  have 
tried  it  will  as  little  think  of  using  coal,  col<e  or  slack, 
without  Anthranising  it,  as  it  occurs  to  them  to  make  tea 
without  first  making  sure  that  the  water  has  boiled. 


The  regular  price  of  Anthranite  is  5s.  per  box,  sufficient 
to  "Anthranise "  one  ton  of  coal,  but  in  order  to  enable 
every  reader  to  convince  himself  of  the  marvellous  virtues 
of  this  money-saving  substance,  the  Proprietors  have 
decided  to  send,  post  free  with  full  directions,  for  a  short 
time  only,  one  box  on  receipt  of  remittance  for  2s.  6d.,  or 
five  boxes  on  receipt  of  only  10s.  The  latter  offer  is 
specially  recommended  to  the  attention  of  readers,  as  it 
may  be  withdrawn  at  any  time. 


The  difference  between  the  days  before  Anthranite  was 
produced  in  sufficient  o.uantities  to  make  it  universally 
available  and  the  present,  when  anyone  can  have  a  ready 
stock  at  hand  for  the  mere  trouble  of  detaching  the  coupon 
below  and  dropping  it  into  the  Post,  together  with  the 
necessary  remittance,  is  simply  marvellous. 

Those  who  know  the  comfort  and  cleanliness  of  Anthra- 
nised fires  say  that  it  is  like  comparing  present-day  lighting 
conditions  to  those  days  when  Oil  Lamps  were  the  only 
house-light.  But  not  Only  that — there  is  also  the  enormous 
saving  in  money.  Where  people  formerly  used  two  tons 
of  coal  at,  say,  28s.  per  ton,  they  now  use  one  at  about  24s, 
and  one  box  of  Anthranite,  cost  2s.  6d.  Net  result  :  Clean- 
liness, comfort,  better  heat,  less  work,  and  a  saving  of 
exactly  29s.  6d.  So  gratifying  a  change  cannot  be  produced 
by  any  other  means,  and  quite  naturally  it  is  most  welcome, 
particularly  in  these  days  of  all-round  retrenchment. 

Readers  who  wish  to  take  advantage  of  the  Special  Test 
Offer  should  detach  the  Privilege  Coupon  below,  pin  it  to 
their  letter  and  enclose  it  with  remittance  for  2s.  6d.,  if  they 
wish  for  only  one  box,  or  10s.  for  five  boxes,  addressing 
same  to  Anthranite,  Dept.  61,  54,  Haymarket,  London.  S.  W. 
As  it  is  particularly  desired  to  avoid  delay  in  delivery 
which  often  arises  through  misspelt  names  or  addresses, 
the  Proprietors  will  be  greatly  obliged  if  readers  will  take 
care  to  write  plainly. 

Special  Test  Coupon. 

Sales  Manager,  Anthranite,  Dept.  61, 
64,  Haymarket,  London,  S.W. 

Please  send   by  return  post  free  with  full 
directions  :  — 

1  Box  Anthranite    ...    2/6 
5  Boxes  Anthranite    10/- 

for  which  I  enclose  remittance. 

Kindly  pin  this  coupon  to   your  letter  and 
address  heading. 

Picture  Stories  Magazine. 

In  answering  advertise meiits  pleast  mention  Picture  Stories  Magazine. 





Mr.  H.  B.  WARNER 
(Famous  Players) 






Picture  Stories  Magazine. 

No.  16.     Vol.  III.    December,  1914. 

The  Call  of  the  North. 

From  the  Film  Production  of  JESSE  L.  EASKY  Feature 
Play  Company  by  Irene  Silvers. 

A  wonderful  picture,  telling  of  the  trackless  woods 
of  the  great  snow   world   among  the   fur   hunters. 

Featuring  Robert  Edeson. 

Illustrations  from  the  Film. 


ALEN  ALBEET  trudged 
through  the  deep  snow  of  a 
Hudson's  Bay  winter.  Already 
hunger  had  assailed  him  ;  he 
was  growing  steadily  weaker 
with  every  step.  And  not  at 
all  in, the  cowardly  spirit  of  one  repining 
against  fate,  but  rather  in  the  mood  of  the 
strong  man  knowing  what  he  must  face,  he 
realised  that  he  was  near  the  end.  Mis- 
fortune had  beset  him ;  he  bad  lost  his  rifle, 
and  with  it  the  food  supply  he  had  carried. 
If  he  could  reach  the  post  where  Jock  Wilson 
was  factor,  all  would  be  well.  If  not — well, 
the  tale  was  one  that  would  soon  be  told. 

Not  once  did  Albret  think  of  giving  up. 
Not  once  did  he  cease  to  press  forward, 
with  shortening  steps,  that  grew  feebler  and 
feebler  as  one  succeeded  the  other.  His  duty 
to  himself  and  to  the  great  company  he 
served  alike  bade  him  speed  on.  And,  as  he 
trudged  on,  one  thought  came  to  comfort  him. 
His  post  was  well  cared  fur.  Graham 
Stewart,  in  charge  when  he  had  set  forth, 
would  do  in  all  things  as  the  rules  of  the 
company  required.  True,  he  was  young.  But 
he  was  a  trader  of  rare  skill,  well  used  to  the 
ways  of  the  great  North.  He  was  here, 
indeed,  because  he  had  heard  the  call  of  the 
great  solitudes.  Almost  alone  among  the 
men  who  wrestled  with  the  frozen  spaces 
for  a  living,  Stewart  was  there  of  his  own 
free  will. 

This  fact  had  attracted  Albret,  himself  a 
great  lover  of  the  north,  to  the  younger 
man.  Here  was  one  who  could,  if  he  would, 
enjoy  life  at  his  ease  in  the  cities  of  the 
east.  No  need  to  earn  a  living  had  brought 
him  north — he  was,  if  not  wealthy,  at  least 

independently,  even  comfortably  off.  Yes, 
his  post  would  fare  well,  even  if  he  did  not 

But  failure  is  not  often  the  reward  of  such 
indomitable  courage,  such  a  will  to  live,  as 
Albret  had.  It  was  late  at  night  when  he 
dragged  himself  painfully  over  the  last  few 
frozen  yards,  and  fell,  beating  against  the 
door,  at  the  factor's  house.  And  then,  once 
his  signal  was  heard,  his  troubles  were  at 
an  end  Stout  Jock  Wilson  himself  carried 
him  in,  despite  his  huge  frame.  Wasted  as 
that  great  body  now  was,  Jock  could  do  it. 
But  Galen  Albret,  in  the  height  of  his 
strength  and  power,  could  never  have  been 
lifted  by  any  save  a  giant. 

While  Galen  slowly  won  back  his 
strength,  there  flowered  one  of  those 
wild,  swift  romances  of  the  frozen  places. 
Not  in  the  tropics  alone  do  passions  rise  to 
their  fiercest  heights,  both  of  love  and  hate. 
Far  from  it.  In  the  north,  where  summer 
smiles  but  to  give  way  again  to  winter,  the 
fires  of  love  and  hate  burn  as  brightly  as 
under  southern  skies,  where  snow  and  ice 
are  but  tales.  Elodie,  Wilson's  daughter, 
helped  to  nurse  Albret  back  to  life.  And, 
even  as  he  loved  her,  she  returned  his  love. 
Gone  were  the  thoughts  she  had  cherished 
of  Rand,  the  silent,  sombre  trader ;  for- 
gotten was  her  half-given  promise  that  she 
would  yield  to  his  suit  and  wed  him.  Once 
she  had  seen  Albret,  no  other  love  could 
find  a  place  in  her  heart. 

She  listened  readily  to  his  plea ;  in  the 
night,  lest  Wilson  oppose  them,  they  slipped 
away.  And  the  next  day,  with  Indians  for 
the  only  witnesses,  the  wandering  i^riest  who 
served  those  isolated  trading  posts  married 
them.  They  knelt  before  him  ;  they  arose, 
rapt  with  the  wonder  of  the  thought  that 




Rand  shows  the  Factoi-  the  pouch  as  proof  of  his  wife's  love  for  Stewart. 

once  he  spoke  to 
her  of  what  had 
lain  between 

"  You  hit  me 
pretty  hard, 
Elodie,"  he  said, 
then.  "  But — 
well,  1  guess  you 
took  the  better 
man*  I  guess  you 
were  wiser  than 
1  was,  after  all." 

"  I  didn't  mean 
to  hurt  you  !  "  she 
said.  "I'm  sorry. 
But  I  couldn't 
help  it." 

That  was  all. 
Alb  ret  knew 
nothing  of  Hand's 
former  suit.  He 
liked  Rand,  be- 
cause the  man 

they  were  man  and  wife.  And  so  Albret 
returned  to  his  post  with  a  wife,  he  who 
had  gone  forth  alone  and  doomed  as  surely 
to  live  alone  as  any  man  might  seem  to  be. 

Stewart  greeted  him  Avith  a  delight  that 
was  tempered  by  sadness.  He,  too,  had  had 
his  romance  ;  his  wife  was  dead.  Dying,  she 
had  left  the  boy  who  was  now  making  his 
first  trip  into  the  northern  lands  with  his 
father,  little  Ned  Stewart.  Yet  Stewart, 
despite  the  sorrow  of  which  Albret's  mar- 
riage reminded  him,  was  able  to  share  the 
factor's  happiness.  He  liked  the  gentle 
Elodie,  too,  at  sight.  Moreover,  he  was 
glad  to  think  that  a  woman  would  be  at 
the  post. 

Happy  days  followed  for  all  of  them 
Albret  never  ceased  to  delight  in  the  girl  he 
had  made  his  wife.  She,  in  turn,  loved  him 
wholely.  Between  her  and  Stewart,  too, 
there  sprang  up  a  friendship.  He  talked  to 
her,  in  his  calm  way,  of  his  dead  wife,  and 
she  listened  to  him  with  ready  tears  in  her 
eyes,  thinking  of  her  own  happiness.  The 
boy,  Ned,  she  loved  devotedly.  With 
Stewart  she  taught  him  things  about  the 
woods  ;  from  both  he  learned  how  to  use 
the  snowshoes  an  Indian  had  made  for  him. 

And  then  came  Rand,  transferred  at  his 
own  request  from  Wilson's  post  to  Albret's. 
There  seemed  nothing  sinister  in  his  coming. 
His  manner  to  Elodie  was  perfect.      Just 

was  emcient,  a 
good  trader,  who  asked  few  questions  and 
made  no  excuses,  preferring  to  accomplish 
alone  whatever  he  undertook.  And  there 
was  something  in  common  between  them — 
the  common  tie  of  the  north.  So  all  was 
set  for  liand's  plan.  For  he  had  come  to 
the  post  with  a  deep  and  sinister  purpose. 
And,  as  soon  as  he  dared,  he  began  to 
sow  in  Albret's  mind  suspicions  of  Elodie 
and  Stewart.  Rand  had  nothing  against 
Stewart ;  it  was  upon  Albret  himself,  and 
Elodie,  that  he  desired  to  be  revenged. 
Stewart    was    simply   a  means  to  an  end. 

Nor  was  it  long  before  his  purpose  was 
accomplished.  Elodie  herself  helped  him, 
unwittingly.  She  made  a  little  present  for 
her  father,  a  pouch  of  beads,  in  the  Indian 
fashion,  to  hold  tobacco.  And  knowing 
that  Stewart  was  soon  to  make  a  trip  to  her 
father's  post,  she  asked  him  to  deliver  it 
fo!'  her. 

Rand  knew  of  this.  He  showed  Albret 
the  pouch,  in  Stewart's  cabin,  as  evidence 
of  what  he  charged. 

But  for  Albret's  temper  nothing  might 
have  happened.  But  he,  accusing  Stewart, 
even  on  this  flimsy  evidence,  flew  into  a 
fearful  rage  when  Stewart  contemptuously 
declined  to  answer  him. 

"  Go  then  !  "  he  said.  "  I  expel  you  from 
this  territory  !  You  shall  take  La  Longue 



Stewart  did  not  understand.  He  set  out 
■bravely  enough.  But  in  the  first  night  his 
rifle  was  taken  ;  five  days  later  he  died,  shot 
by  an  Indian  who  had  trailed  him  from  the 

The  boy  was  left ;  and  weeks  afterwards 
the  priest,  returning  to  civilization,  took 
him  away  to  be  cared  for  by  Stewart's 
relatives  living  then  in  Duluth. 

Chapter  L 

TWENTY  years  after  Graham  Stewart 
had  met  his  death  in  the  silent  soli- 
tude of  the  forest,  a  man,  who  save 
for  the  absence  of  a  beard,  might  have  been 
taken  for  Albret's  victim,  come  to  life,  strode 
through  the  snow,  singing  a  song  in  the 
patois  of  the  French  rivermen  as  he  marched: 

he  sang- 

Le  fils  du  roi  s'en  va  chasmnt  " 


En  roulant  ma  houle, 

Avec  son  grand  fusil  d'argent, 

RouU  roulant,  ma  houle  roulant. 

Avec  son  grand  fusil  d'argent, 
En  roulant  ma  houle, 
Visa  le  noir,  tua  le  hlanr, 
Ropuli  roulant,  ma  houle  roulant. 

Light-heartedly  he  sang  the  old  chanson 
that  had  gone  westward  with  the  voy- 
ageurs.  The  joy  of  living  was  seething  in 
this  young  man,  who,  like  his  father  before 
him,  had  answered  the  call  of  the  north. 
Why  was  he  here  1  He  had  asked  himself 
ihat  same  question.  He  faced  danger  here, 
yet  that  was  not  it.  He  was  close  to  nature, 
yet  nature  held  sway  in  other  places.  He 
could  make  money — but  his  father's  estate 
had  accumulated  during  the  years  of  his 
boyhood,  and  he  had  already  more  than  he 
knew  how  to  spend.  He  loved  the  north  ; 
perhaps  that  explained  it,  in  a  measure. 
That  and  the  driving  desire,  the  primitive 
urging  to  learn  what  he  had  never  been  able 
to  discover — his  father's  fate. 

Young  as  he  had  been  when  his  father 
died,  he  had  not  been  too  young  to  under- 
stand that  about  the  loss  of  his  father  there 
had  been  something  strange,  something 
sinister,  something  that  was  far  from  being 
normal  or  as  it  should  be.  And  in  him,  as 
in  all  those  nursed  in  the  primitive  places 
of  the  earth,  there  was  that  elementary 
principle  of  justice.  If  there  was  that  about 
his  father's  death  that  called  for  vengeance, 
it  was  for  him  to  discover  it  and  do  that 
simple  justice  that  men  who  live  in  the  far 

(iraham  Stewart  is  sent  to  his  death  on  La  Longive  Traverse  (the  Journey  of  Death). 



Graham  Stewart,  sent  out  on  La  Longue  Traverse, 
bids   good-bye  to  his  boy  Ned. 

places  mete  out  to  one  another.  Perhaps 
that  accounted  for  his  coming ;  perhaps  the 
North  itself  had  called  him. 

Whatever  the  reason,  here  he  was,  a  free 
trader  in  the  land  that  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company,  robbed  of  most  of  its  old  mon- 
opoly, still  held  sacred  to  itself.  Here 
man-made  la>^'s,  as  they  are  written  in  the 
statute  books,  went  unheeded.  Here  might 
was  ri^ht,  and  the  might  was  the  might  of 
the  great  company  and  the  law  the  law  that 
its  factors  dispensed.  The  one  law  that  all 
knew  was  this — that  no  free  trader  might 
dare  to  penetrate  this  northern  wilderness 
of  Hudson's  Jiay ;  that  none  such  might 
trade  there  with  the  Indians  unless  he  was 
willing  to  face  the  penalty. 

Twice  already  company  men  had  found 
Ned — Ned  Tient,  as  he  called  himself— 
going  about  his  businaes,  legal  and  yet  illicit, 
with  the  Indians,  carrying  his  trading  pack, 
receiving  from  the  natives  the  furs  they 
were  glad  to  give  him  because  he  paid  better 
than    the    company.      Each   time    his   pack 

and  all  his  furs  had  been  taken 
from  him — confiscated.  Each  time 
he  had  been  taken,  under  escort,  to 
the  south,  and  warned  to  keep  away 
from  the  closed  lands.  And  now, 
despite  those  warnings,  he  was 
"^  back,  a  song  on  his  lips,  though  he 
^vB  knew  well  the  risk  he  ran — the 
^  risk  of  being  sent  upon  La  Longue 
Traverse,  the  journey  of  death,  from 
which  men  did  not  return — cast 
out  from  a  post,  without  arms, 
with  barely  a  week's  food,  and 
with  Indians  to  watch  the  trail. 
No,  men  did  not  escape  the  dangers 
of  La  Longue  Traverse.  Yet  Ned 
Trent  took  the  risk  gaily,  as  he 
took  everything. 

He  was  heading  now  for  a 
particular  rendezvous ;  there,  he 
knew,  he  would  find  Indians  ready 
to  trade.  He  reached  them  ;  they 
snapped  up  his  trade  eagerly  and 
gave  him,  instead,  the  skins  they 
had  gained  through  months  of 

He  stayed  with  the  friendly 
Indians,  who  warned  him  of  the 
presence,  within  fifty  miles,  of 
company  men.  In  the  morning,  to 
his  surprise,  a  man  called  him 
by  his  abandoned  name. 

"  Ned  Stewart,  as  I  live  ! "  said 

this  man.     "My  boy,  don't  you  remember 


Trent   searched    the   older   man's    eyes, 

and  at  last  recognition  dawned  in  his  own. 
"Father Crane  !  "  he  cried.     But  at  once 

he  lowered  his  voice.     "  My  name  here — 

and  now — is  Trent,  Ned  Trent." 

Chapter  II. 

T  was  the  priest  who  had  taken  Ned 
with  him  after  his  father's  death  to 
Duluth.  And  now  they  set  down  to- 
gether and  talked  of  things  the  old  priest 
had  nearly  forgotten. 

"You  take  me  back  through  the  years,, 
my  boy,"  he  said.  He  sighed.  '  Ah,  I  am 
thinking  of  your  poor  father — and  of  how  I 
could  have  saved  him  had  I  have  been  at 
the  post  when " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Trent,  his  eyes  gleaming. 
"  It  is  to  learn  what  you  can  tell  me  that  I 
am  here  !  Do  you  know,  sir,  I  have  never 
known  how  my  father  died  1 " 

The  minister  started.     He  looked  long  at 




the  young  man,  the  past  rising  before  him. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  tell  you  ! "  he 
said,  wearily.  "  So  much  of  sin,  and  hate, 
and  bitterness,  in  a  world  where  there 
should  be  only  love  and  charity  !  Listen, 
then,  but  understand  this — I  have  always 
believed  there  was  some  horrible  mistake — - 
that  what  they  said  and  believed  of  your 
father  was  not  true.  Remember  that  when 
you  hear  me,  for  I  shall  tell  what  others 
thought,  and  why  they  acted  as  they  did." 
And  so  Ned  Trent  heard,  with  stiffening 
face,  the  story  of  his  father's  death.  He 
heard  everything  —  except  the  names  of 
those  who  were  concerned.  The  priest 
showed  him  the  pouch  that  had  caused  all 
the  trouble.  But  the  names  he  refused  to 

"No,"  he  said,  firmly.  "' Vengeance  is 
mine,  said  the  Lord.'  Remember  that,  my 
boy.  Your  mind  is  filled  with  hate  now. 
But  it  is  not  for  you  to  take  the  law  into 
your  own  hands,  and  doubly  it  is  not  for  me 
to  further  such  a  design  if  you  now  cherish 
it.  You  have  changed  your  name.  You 
have  done  well.  A  free  trader  is  not  safe 
here.  Remember  that  I  am  your  friend, 
but  keep  away  from  the  company's  men." 

Or  they  will  kill  me  as  they  killed  my 
father!"  said  Trent,  bitterly.  "I  know. 
Oh,  I  am  caieful.  I  do  not  mean  to  die 
until  I  have  discovered  what  you  have  re- 
fused to  tell  me.  I  shall  discover  all  some 
day,  and  then  those  who  killed  him  will 
have  to  answer  to  me  !  " 

"Ah — youth — youth?"  sighed  the  old 
priest.  "  Well,  God  be  with  you,  my  son  ! 
I  am  needed  elsewhere.  It  may  be  that  we 
shall  not  meet  again.     Farewell." 

They  parted.  And  before  the  sun  had 
reached  the  zenith  Ned,  too,  had  left  the 
friendly  Indians  and  was  pressing  north- 
ward alone.  His  way  took  him  through 
untracked  portions  of  the  wilderness,  for, 
though  there  were  trails,  to  follow  them 
now,  as  the  winter  was  breaking,  would 
expose  him  too  greatly  to  the  danger  of 
encountering  company's  men.  And  he 
needed  no  trails  ;  he  was  able,  well  equipped 
as  he  was,  to  travel  anywhere. 

It  was  well  for  another  traveller  that  he 
travelled  as  he  did.  For  jujt  before  dusk 
he  came  upon  a  French-Canadian  half-breed. 
The  man  was  staggering,  moving  in  circles, 
feebly.  He  had  been  smitten  by  snow  blind- 
ness ;  with  all  his  supplies  gone,  he  was 
near  to  death.     For  two  days  Trent  cared 

for  him  ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  half- 
breed  was  able  to  travel. 

"  You  are  one  of  dose  free  traders — no?" 
said  the  half-breed.  Ba — I  am  a  company 
man,  I — but  you  are  my  fren'.  I,  Achille 
Picard — I  am  your  fren'.  You  have  saved 
mylif — via — dei^t  af^sez  !  " 

"(xood-bye,  then,  friend."  said  Trent. 
And  they  parted. 

Chapter  III. 

THUS  Trent  fared  in  his  first  meeting, 
on  this  trip,  with  a  representative  of 
the  great  company.     He  laughed   to 
himself  as  he  left  the   volatile   half-breed, 
wondering  if  he  should  see  him  again. 

I'm  not  likely  to  find  them  helpless, 
those  company  men,  as  a  rule,"  he  said  to 

And  knowing  that  they  were  all  around 
him,  he  redoubled  his  vigilance.  But  he 
had  to  sleep.  And,  less  than  a  wee  !c  after 
he  had  left  Picard,  Ned  awoke  suddenly  in 
bright  moonlight  to  find  himself  covered  by 
half  a  dozen  rifles. 

Throw  up  your  hands,  young  man. 
We've  got  the  drop  on  you,"  said  a  rough 
voice.     "  Let's  see  you — ah." 

'Yes,  you've  got  me,  McTavish,"  said 
Trent,  coolly.  "All  right.  No  use  fighting 
against  odds.  Well,  what  now  ?  Going  to 
escort  me  out  of  town  again  1 " 

"So  it's  you,  is  it,  Trent?"  said  McTavish. 
"  You  had  fair  warning.  No,  I'll  not  escort 
you  out  this  time.  I'll  take  you  to  Conjuror's 
House,  and  we'll  see  what  the  factor  there 
has  to  say." 

"Old  Galen  Albret  himself,  eh?  The 
big  man  of  the  whole  country?  My,  I'm 
getting  important." 

"Joke  all  you've  a  mind  to  now,"  said 
McTavish,  grimly.  "  I'll  warrant  Albret 
will  make  you  laugh  out  the  other  side  of 
your  face !  " 

"Well  —  we'll   see,"    said    Trent,   easily. 
You  can't  frighten  me  anyhow,  McTavish, 
as  I  guess  you've  m.aybe  learned  by  now." 

"Small  credit  to  you,"  grumbled  the  other. 
A  man's  got  need  of  some  sense  before  he 
has  brains  enough  to  fear — and  you've  not 
got  that." 

That  ended  the  exchange  of  talk  between 
them.  After  that,  during  the  long  trip  to 
Conjuror's  House,  there  passed  between 
McTavish  and  his  prisoner — for  prisoner 
Trent  was,  as  he  well  knew — only  such  words 
as  were  wholely  indispensable.     In  the  north 



speech  is  not  wasted  ;  Trent  and  McTavish 
understood  one  another,  and  there  was  no 
need  of  making  conversation.  And  so  Trent, 
under  compulsion,  went  on,  uncertain  as  to 
the  fate  he  was  to  meet,  knovving  nothing, 
in  actual  fact,  about  it — except  that  it  was 
likely  to  prove  highly  unpleasant. 

The  last  part  of  the  journey  was  made  in 
a  comfort  almost  luxurious,  for  it  was  made 
on  the  swift  flowing  Moose  River  that  ran, 
as  Trent  knew,  right  by  the  trading  post 
of  Conjuror's  House,  the  most  important  of 
the  whole  vast  region.  After  they  reached 
the  spot  where  the  canoes  were  there 
was  nothing  for  Trent  to  do  but  to  sit 
back  in  his  place  and  watch  the  Indians 
as  they  paddled.  Free  trader  he  might  l)e, 
and  outlaw,  but  he  was  white,  at  least,  and 
full  blooded,  and  manual  work  was  not  for 
him  while  there  were  those  of  lesser  breeds 
to  do  it — so  argued  McTavish. 
*  *  + 

Early  on  a  bright  morning  the  flotilla 
of  canoes  that  McTavish  led  came  to 
Conjuror's  House.  Trent,  sitting  back  idly 
in  his  place,  scorning  to  show  his  curiosity, 
certainly  without  incentive  to  follow  the 
example  of  others,  who  leaped  ashore  as 
soon  as  the  canoes  touched  the  bank,  was 
interested,  even  though  he  hid  his  interest. 
His  eyes  fell  first  on  an  old  man,  tall, 
rugged,  broad  and  massive  of  build,  with  a 

Picaid  caught  in  the  bear  trap. 

snow  white  beard.  At  a  glance  he  knew 
him  as  the  famous  factor,  Galen  Albret, 
although  he  had  never  before  seen  him,  had 
never  before  heard  him  described. 

This  was  the  sort  of  man  about  whom 
legends  grew  up.  Easy,  even  at  a  glance,  to 
see  that  he  was  born  td  rule  ;  that  he  would 
dominate  any  assembly  in  which  he  had  a 
])art.  An  involuntary  shiver  shook  Trent. 
He  was  not  a  coward  ;  he  was  not  easily 
alarmed.  He  had  had  his  share  of  danger. 
Yet  about  this  man  there  was  something 
that  expressed  determination  and  relentless- 
ness.  And,  talking  to  McTavish,'  he  had 
shot  one  look  at  the  silent  man  in  the  boat 
a  look  so  baleful,  so  full  of  malice,  that  it 
could  not  fail  to  leave  its  mark. 

And  then,  all  at  o;;ce,  Trent  forgot 
Albret,  forgot  McTavish ;  forgot  his  own 
danger,  vague  but  imminent.  For  his  eyes,, 
wandering  about,  came  suddenly  on  a  figure 
that  seemed  at  first  grotesquely  out  of  place, 
the  figure  of  a  young  girl  standing  on  the 
.shore,  and  regarding  him  with  a  curiosity 
frank  and  unasham.ed.  Li  a  moment  re- 
sponding to  the  instincts  of  the  caste  that 
claimed  him  when  he  was  not  in  the  north, 
he  was  on  his  feet,  hat  in  hand.  She  paid 
no  attention  to  him  beyond  a  grave  in- 
clination of  the  head,  so  slight  that  it  could 
not  be  called  a  bow.  And  so,  for  a  long 
minute,  they  stared  frankly  at  one  another. 

"  God  !  "  said 
Trent  to  himself. 
A.  girl — a  white 
girl- — here  !  And 
a  beauty.  Young, 
too.  She's  not 
more  than  nine- 
teen. She's  no^ 
squaw.  No  breed, 
either !  " 

Then  the  spell 
was  broken.  The 
girl  turned  away. 
Without  a  back- 
ward look  she 
walked  towards 
the  principal 
house  of  the  post. 
Trent  stared 
after  her  ruefully. 
Then  a  voice 
l^roke  into  his 

"Galen  Albret 
will     see     you. 



Trent,  in  his  office,"  said  McTavish. 
"At  once  !  " 

Chapter  IV. 

YOU  have  been  caught  twice 
before  in  my  county  by  my 
men,"  said  Galen  Albret, 
without  prelude,  when  he  had 
stared  at  Trent  for  several  moments. 
The  second  time  you  were  warned 
that  you  would  come  here  a  third 
time  only  at  your  own  grave  peril — 
that  such  lenient  measures  as 
escorting  you  out  of  the  country 
would  not  be  adopted  again.  Yet 
you  are  here." 

That  is  quite  true,  all  of  it," 
said  Trent,  quietly.  '  Yet  I  am 
within  my  rights.  The  forest  is 
free.  Your  monopoly  has  expired. 
The  company  no  longer  has  the 
exclusive  right  to  trade  in,  this 

None  the  less  I  shall  exercise 
that  right,"  said  the  factor.  "If 
you  are  to  be  allowed  to  go  fiee 
again  I  must  have  your  word  of 
honour  that  you  will  not  again 
interfere  with  my  trade." 
II  If  I  refuse— as  I  do  T' 

I  know  how  to  enforce  my  will.'' 

Yes,  I  suppose  you  have  sent 
men  on  La  Longue  Traverse  before, 
though  not  all  know." 

The  simple  words  made  a  sensation.  For 
in  that  post,  in  that  whole  region,  indeed, 
men  spoke  those  words  with  bated  breath, 
in  hushed  tone?,  among  themselves — and 
never,  by  any  chance,  to  such  a  one  as  Galen 
Albret,  endowed  there,  by  the  might  of  his 
own  power,  with  the  high  justice,  the 
middle,  and  the  low.  Perhaps  he  had  sent 
men  out  upon  La  Longue  Traverse  never  to 
return,  but  it  was  done  in  secret.  It  was 
never  admitted.  Albret  seemed  to  glower 

"  What  childish  talk  is  that  ?  "  he  asked, 
sternly.  "  There  is  a  legend  of  La  Longue 
Traverse,  true " 

It  is  no  legend.  I  know  men  whose 
whitening  bones,  could  they  be  found,  would 
prove  its  truth,"  said  Trent.  You  may 
kill  me,  if  you  like — that  way  or  another. 
But  do  not  think  you  can  deceive  me." 

Go,  now,"  said  the  factor,  quietly.  I 
will  dispose  of  your  case  later,  and  in  my 
own  good  time.     Meanwhile,  you  are  not  to 

Julie  determines  to  kill  Rand  to  save  her  lover  Picard. 

make  any  attempt  to  leave  the  post." 

Small  danger  of  that,"  laughed  Trent, 
bitterly.  "  You  have  taken  away  my  gun 
and  my  food.  What  chance  would  I  have 
in  the  wilderness,  even  if  you  did  not  send 
your  Indian  couriers  du  hois  to  see  that  I 
did  not  by  any  chance  escape  1 " 

"Enough,"  said  Albret.  "Such  discom- 
forts, such  deprivations  as  you  have  to 
suffer  you  have  brought  upon  yourself.  Go." 

Chapter  V. 

TRENT  stepped  from  the  factor's  office 
into  the  open  air,  seemingly  dis- 
traught, almost  indifferent.  Those 
whose  eyes  were  upon  him  saw  a  man  who 
was,  perhaps,  unconscious  of  his  danger,  or, 
if  not  unconscious,  supremely  careless.  Yet 
Trent's  senses  were  every  one  alert.  He 
not  only  knew  the  danger  he  was  in;  he  was 
determined  to  evade  it,  in  some  fashion. 
The  will  to  live  was  strong  in  him.  And 
he  had  seen  that  in  the  factor's  eyes  which 
convinced  him  that  there  was  no  mercy  for 



him  in  that  old  man.     He  must  fend  for 
himself,  and,  above  all,  he  must  act  quickly. 

The  problem  was  one  to  stagger  him. 
He  was  here  alone,  without  a  friend,  save 
for  the  old  priest,  who  might  be  almost 
anywhere,  and,  ten  to  one,  could  not  help 
him  were  he  near.  In  all  that  vast  region 
he  might  look  for  aid  only  from  some  free 
trader  like  himself — and  few  of  those  were 
bold  enough  to  come  where  the  long  arm  of 
Galen  Albret  might  reach  them.  Then, 
suddenly,  his  eyes  lighted.  For  they  fell  on 
the  form  of  AchiUe  Picard,  the  man  he  had 
saved,  shrinking  behind  the  door  of  a  cabin. 
Picard — Achille — ^old  vagabond  !  "  he 
cried,  heartily.  '  So  I  did  save  your  worth- 
less life,  hein  1  Come  here,  then,  and  let 
me  shake  your  hand  !  " 

Achille  came,  reluctantly.  He  owed  this 
man  his  life,  yet  he  knew  Trent  to  be  pro- 
scribed. Was  it  fair,  then,  to  ask  him  to 
associate  himself  with  such  a  one  1  Yet  he 
came  ;  gratitude,  after  all,  was  strong  in  hiu-.. 
And  there  was  Julie,  the  woman  he  loved, 
to  whom  he  had  told  his  adventure.  She 
was  listening  ;  what  would  she  say  did  he 
refuse  to  acknowledge  this  benefactor  1 " 

Listen,  Achille,"  said  Trent,  di-opping  his 
voice,  yet  assuming  an  air  as  if  what  he  were 
saying  were  trivial.  I  am  iu  trouble — you 

"  I  beleef  you  ! "  said  Picard.  ''  Dose  old 
man — she  no  lak'  you — you  trade  dose  fur 

Just  about  that,  Achille,  Listen,  you 
know  what  goes  on  here  1  You  have  heard 
of  La  Longue  Traverse  1 " 

"  Oui  I  " 
Have  there  been  men  sent  out  since  you 
came  here  1 " 

"  Ba  oui  I  I  tink.  Nobody  know  but 
dat  ole  man  and  his  couriers  du  hois." 

"  1  suppose  I  shall  take  that  trail.  La 
Longue  Traverse?" 

"  I  have  think  so/'  agreed  Achille. 

"Then,  Achille,  if  you  will  get  me  a  rifle 
I  will  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  !  " 

"  No,  I  can't  do  eet,"  said  Achille,  in- 
stantly. '  01c  man,  he  find  out.  He  know 
everyt'iiig.  He  count  every  rifle— w'en  he 
meesees  wan  he  fin'  out  purty  queek 
who  is  tak'  heem." 

And  Picard  was  obstinate.  Neither  his 
gratitude  nor  his  cupidity  when  Trent  raised 
his  offers  moved  him.  All  he  could  offer 
was  advice. 

Maybee,"  he  said,     you  stan'  some  show 

if  he  sen'  you  out  queek.  Dose  duck  is 
yonge  yet.  They  cannot  fly  yet.  Here,  I 
weel  help — for  what  you  deed  for  me.  Via 
I  geev'  you  my  knife  !  " 

'  But  how  can  I  make  him  send  me 
quickly  1     Won't  he  think  about  the  ducks?" 

'  Maybee.    You  mak'  heem  mad  at  you — " 

"  ril  do  it !  "  vowed  Trent.  "  That  is  the 
best  chance.     You're  right,  Achille." 

"Ciii — eet  ees  wan  chance — not  much  ! 
He  ees  get  mad  purty  queek.  Den  maybee 
he  ees  sen'  you  out  toute  suite — maybee  he 
ees  shoot  you  !  " 

'"And  I'll  take  that  chance,  too,"  said 

Chapter  VL 

GALEN  ALBRET  sat  in  his  study 
dreaming.  He  had  almost  forgotten 
about  the  free  trader  who  must  take 
La  Longue  Traverse.  After  all  Trent  was 
only  an  incident  in  the  life  of  the  post. 
There  had  been  others.  But  suddenly  his 
daughter  Virginia,  the  girl  Trent  had 
seen,  spoke  to  him  out  of  the  silence. 

Dad,  who  was  that  man  who  came  in 
with  Mr.  McTavish  1  He  acted  so  strangely, 
and  all  the  men  treated  him  in  such  a 
strange  way  1  No  one  will  tell  me  about 

Albret  considered  her.  Most  of  the  day 
had  passed;  twilight  had  fallen. 

He  is  a  stranger  ^who  is  where  he  does 
not  belong,"  he  said,  finally. 

"What  is  his  station?  Why  should  we 
not  receive  him  as  a  guest  ? "  she  asked.    ' 

"  He  is  a  gentleman — that  is  enough," 
said  her  father.  Then,  abruptly,  he  changed 
the  subject.  "  Virginia,"  he  said,  you  are 
growing  up.  It  is  time  you  saw  something 
of  the  outside  world.  Would  you  like  to 
go  to  Quebec  this  year — to  school?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go  some  time,"  she 
said.     "  I  should  like  to  go  with  you." 

'"  I  cannot  go  this  year,"  he  said.  But 
you — if  you  will — can  go  with  the  Abitibi 
brigade.    You  have  until  it  starts  to  decide. ' 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  she  said.  '  I  will 
think  of  it." 

They  fell  silent.  She  understood  that 
she  was  to  ask  no  more  questions  concerning 
the  stranger.  And  then,  suddenly,  while 
she  was  thinking,  not  of  Quebec,  but  of  him, 
he  was  iu  the  room  unannounced. 

"Are  you  there,  Galen  Albret?"  called 
Trent,  sharply. 

"  What  then  ? "  said    the  factor,  in    his 



deep  tone.        I  did  not  send  for  you." 

No,  but  I  ha\  e  come.  When  do  I  start 
on  La  Longue  Traverse  1 " 

Stop  that  nonsense,"  said  Albret,  sharply. 
As   to  when  I  shall  send  you  away  I  do 
not  know." 

Trent  lighted  a  cigarette. 
I    do    not    smoke    in    this    room.     My 
daughter  uses  it  often,"  said  Albret. 

'  What  do  I  care  for  your  habits  ? " 
demanded  Trent. 

And  then  Virginia,  angry  at  his  insolence 
toward  her  father,  rose  from  the  shadow 
that  had  hidden  her. 

"You  have  left  your  manners  far  behind, 
sir,"  she  said.  "I  was  told  you  were  a 
gentleman  by  the  man  you  are  insulting, 
who  is  old  enough  to  command  your 

The  cigarette  flew  into  the  hearth. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  cried  Trent,  his 
design  of  spurring  Albret  to  anger  forgotten. 

I  did  not  know  you  were  here  !  " 

Once  more  he  stared  at  her.  And  though 
she  coloured  slowly,  she  could  not  withdraw 
her  eyes  from  his.  She  was  puzzled, 
mystified  by  him. 

"  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me,"  he  said,  again. 
But  I  am  desperate.  For  months  I  have 
seen  nothing  but  the  wilderness.  And  now, 
suddenly,  I  come  here — I  find  men,  and 
books,  and  houses — comfort — homos.  And 
— and  a  woman — a  woman,  mademoiselle, 
such  as  men  like  me  dream  of  in  the  light 
of  their  fire  at  night.  Others  may  stay — 
may  go  out,  knowing  that  they  return  to 
all  this  that  I  see  !  But  I — 1  am  to  take 
La  Longue  Traverse  !  That  is  why  I  seemed 
to  insult  your  father  without  arousing  his 

But  this  long  journey  that  you  speak 
of,"  said  the  girl,  bewildered.  "Other  men 
take  long  journeys — men  less  strong  than 
you.  They  return  safely,  so  why  should 
you  be  lost?" 

"  But  not  from  La  Longue  Traverse." 

'  La  Longue  Traverse  1 "  she  questioned. 
"  What  is  it  ?  ' 

"  Some  call  it  the  Journey  of  Death,"  he 

'"  But "  she  began,  wondering. 

"  Ah,  I  can  explain — I  will — if  you  will 
let  me  see  you  again,  alone,"  he  whispered. 
"  To-night,  by  the  guns,  you  will  be  there  1 " 

Tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at 
him.  Still  she  did  not  understand.  Suddenly 
she  fled.     Albret's  voice  roared  in  his  ears. 

"  You  hound,"  cried  the  factor.  "Would 
you  play  upon  my  daughter's  sympathy  to 
save  your  life  1  Dare  you  make  love  to  her 
under  my  very  eyes?" 

Suddenly  Trent  remembered  his  design 
to  anger  this  man.  He  had  succeeded  in 
that,  at  least.  He  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed  in  the  other  man's  face,  which 
turned  black  with  anger. 

"  By  God  !  "  cried  Albret.  "  You  go  too 
far !  You  have  spoken  of  La  Longue 
Traverse  !  It  shall  be  made  real  to  you — 
as  real  as  anything  ever  was  !  " 

Chapter  VII. 

SMILING,  Trent  left  the  house.  He  had 
achieved  ^omething — Galen  Albret 
was  angry.  He  had  not  shot  him 
down  ;  the  chances  were,  however,  that  he 
would  send  him  out  on  the  journey  of  death 
within  the  week.  And  Achille  Picard's 
suggestion,  as  Trent  well  knew,  was  sound. 
While  the  ducks  and  other  young  birds 
were  still  too  young  and  weak  to  fly,  there 
was  a  chance  for  him  to  snare  them,  or  kill 
them,  perhajis  with  bow  and  arrow.  If — 
and  it  was  a  big  if — he  could  protect  himself 
from  the  watchful  Indians,  the  couriers  du 
hois,  who  would  be  on  his  trail.  Trent  was 
a  rich  man.  But  he  would  have  given 
cheerfully  all  his  wealth  for  a  rifle.  Armed, 
he  would  have  had  no  fear.  Going  forth 
unarmed,  save  for  Picard's  knife,  he  knew 
that  the  chances  were  a  hundred  to  one 
against  him,  even  after  his  success  in 
hastening  Albret's  move. 

And  then  suddenly  he  remembered  the 
girl.  Would  she  help  him  ?  She  had  seemed 
to  be  interested.  There  was  a  chance  then. 
Pei  haps  he  could  play  upon  her  sympathies, 
her  emotions,  and  win  the  help  from  her 
that  all  others  denied.  Well,  it  was  worth 
trying.  He  cared  nothing  for  what  might 
happen  to  her.  She  was  only  a  means  to 
an  end.  Would  she  meet  him  ?  He  waited, 
tensely,  watching  by  the  guns. 

At  last  he  saw  her.  She  came  from  her 
father's  house,  slowly  hesitating.  He  stepped 
forward  in  her  path.  Her  eyes  fell ;  she 
coloured  painfully.     But  he  took  her  hand. 

"  You  came,"  he  said.  "Ah,  I  knew  you 
would  come  !     You  took  pity  on  me  then  1 " 

"  I — did  not  come — to  meet  you,''  she 
said  falteringly.  But  the  rich  colour  in  her 
cheeks  gave  the  lie  to  her  words.  She  was 
struggling  with  her  reserve,  with  her  modesty. 
This  man   seemed  able   to   invade  the  re- 



Sandy  McTavish,  Factor  of  Kettle  Portage,  arx-ives  at^Conjuror's  House  with  Ned  Trent^a 
prisoner.     (Smoke  is  cannon  salute). 

motest  places  of  her  consciousness  ;  at  his 
summons  she  was  ready  to  forget  her  duty 
to  her  father,  her  duty  to  herself.  Why? 
She  had  asked  herself  that  question,  tor- 
mented by  the  waves  of  emotion  that  swept 
her,  leaving  her  baffled. 

"  You  came,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand 
again.  "That  is  enough.  Why  should  1 
care  why  1  " 

Will  you  explain?"  she  asked,  desper- 
ately. "  Will  you  tell  me  why  all  this  is 
happening?  Why  you  talked  so  to  my 
father — and  why  he  answered  you  as  he 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said.  "  Here  there 
are  too  many  to  listen.  What  I  said  would 
be  repeated.  Come  with  me  and  I  will  tell 
you  all — all  that  you  must  know." 

Reluctantly,  wondering  at  herself  for  con- 
senting, she  acquiesced.  She  let  him  take 
her  by  the  hand  and  lead  her  to  the  high 
bank  above  the  rushing  water.  There  they 
looked  down.  Above  them  were  myriads  of 
stars.  In  the  north  the  flashing  lights 
played,  filling  the  sky  with  a  blaze  such  as" 
none  in  southern  latitudes  may  hope  to  see 
— the  wonder  of  the  Aurora  Borealis,  flash- 

ing and  blazing  there  like  some  great  ^con- 
flagration. About  them  it  was  as  light  as 
day,  but  in  the  b'ght  there  was  a  quality 
that  was  different,  weird,  unearthly.  A  fit 
time  and  a  fit  place,  indeed,  for  this  girl 
who  knew  so  little  to  learn  something  of 
life.  And  as  she  looked  up  into  the  face  of 
this  man,  who,  she  could  no  longei-  doubt, 
was  facing  some  strange  and  terrible  ex- 
perience, she  shivered  a  little. 
'  "  Now  !  "  she  cried,  freeing  her  hand,  sud- 
denly. "Tell  me!  Tell  me!  What  is  this 
Longue  Traverse  of  what  you  speak  ?  Why 
should  you,  a  strong  man  and  a  brave,  fear 
this  journey  ?  Is  it  more  dangerous  than  a 
voyage  to  the  Athabasca  or  the  Peace  ?  Do 
unknown  perils  lurk  along  its  course  ?  Tell 
me  !  " 

"La  Longue  Traverse!"  he  repeated, 
moodily.  After  all,  he  thought,  was  it  for 
him  to  tell  her?  Was  it  for  him,  for  the 
sake  of  grasping  at  one  faint  chance,  to  blast 
her  faith  in  her  father,  to  accuse  the  father 
to  his  daughter?  He  wondered!  And  as 
he  looked  into  her  eager  eyes  he  was  moved, 
for  the  first  time,  with  some  real  thought  of 
her.     ."^he   appealed   to   him   at   last    as   a 



Ned,  a  prisoner,  first  sees  the  Factor's  daughtei'. 

shame,  and — 
sorrow.  She  fled 
from  him.  And 
Ned  Trent  look- 
ed after  her^ 
sa  vagel  y^ 

There  are 
prices  too  high 
to  pay  for  life  !  " 
he  said  to  him- 
self, bitterly. 
' '  To  expose  her 
to  his  anger,  for, 
if  she  helped 
me,  he  would 
know.  No.  And 
she  was — begin- 
ning to  care.  I 
had  to  stop  that. 
I  have  done  it. 
She  hates  me 
now,  despises 
me  !    It  is  better 

woman.  She  stirred  his  chivalry,  and  he 
exulted  fiercely  at  the  knowledge,  for  it 
proved  that  he  could  face  death  and  still 
think  of  other  things. 

''I  have  told  you,"  he  went  on.  "  Som.e 
call  it  the  Journey  of  Death.  I  am  to  take 
it  I  think.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  call  on 
you  to  make  a  choice — to  choose  between 
your  pity  and  what  you  might  think  to  be 
your  duty.  Then,  if  I  must  ask  you  to 
make  that  choice,  I  will  tell  you  all  there  i| 
to  be  told  of  La  Longuc  Traverse.  Now,  it 
is  a  secret  not  altogether  mine.  But  tell  me. 
Are  you,  perhaps,  a  little  sorry  for  me? 
Do  you  understand  that  I  am  no  coward — 
that  I  am  not  given  to  complaining  thus 
when  fate  elects  that  the  coin  shall  fall  the 
wrong  way  for  me  ?  " 

I — yes,  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  she  said, 
gravely.  "  I  can  see  that  you  are  unhappy 
and  that  is  enough.  That — and  that  you 
are  a  brave  man.  For  that  is  written  in 
your  eyes." 

He  laughed  lightly. 
To  win  such  pity  is  worth  un happiness  !  " 
And  as  he  looked  at  her  his  mood  changed 
— and  the  whole  spirit  of  the  man.  "Look!" 
he  cried.  'A  shooting  star  !  You  know 
the  legend  1     That  means  a  kiss  ! " 

He  kissed  her  suddenly,  before  she  could 
draw  away,  full  on  the  red  lips.  She  started 
back  ;   in    her   cry   there    was   anger,    and 

Ten  minutes  later  he  passed  her  window. 
His  song  was  on  his  lips — "  i^u  ronlant  ma 
boule — Iiouli  roulant,  ma  houle  ronlanf !  " 

.\  nd  he  can  sing  ! "  she  cried,  bitterly,  to 
herself.  And  flung  herself,  weeping,  on  her 
bed,  to  wonder,  as  she  lay  awake,  what 
these  things  might  mean. 

Chapter  VIII. 

NED  TKENT  supposed  that  he  had 
killed  her  interest  in  him.  He  had 
only  stiried  it  to  fever  heat.  For 
in  that  night  of  sorrow,  as  she  pondered, 
things  grew  clearer  to  her.  She  forgot  the 
insult  of  that  kiss;  she  remembered  only 
the  warmth  of  his  lips  on  hers,  the  surging 
answer  of  her  whole  being  to  the  call  of  his. 
And,  young  as  she  was,  she  knew  that  that 
kiss  was  light  only  in  seeming  ;  that  behind 
the  sudden  impulse  was  something  that  she 
could  answer  freely,  proudly,  with  upraised 
head.  He  had  not  spoken,  but — there  are 
times  when  there  is  no  need  of  words. 

And  so  Virginia  meant  to  learn  the  truth 
that  all — her  father,  Trent,  everyone — 
seemed  leagued  together  to  keep  from  her. 
She  had  asked  direct  questions,  and  been 
put  off.  Now,  before  she  asked  more 
questions  she  was  determined  to  have  the 
means  of  knowing  whether  the  answers  she 
received  were  truthful  or  not.  Here  her 
sex  helped  her — and  she  counted  upon  that. 



Her  sex  and  the  fact  that  she  was  svipposed 
to  be  even  more  ignorant  than  she  actually 

She  was  not  lacking  in  guile.  She  had 
noticed  that  Picard  and  Trent  were  friendly. 
And  so  in  the  morning  she  managed  to 
overhear  a  conversation  between  them.  It 
told  her  much,  though  even  so  she  lacked 
the  knowledge  of  certain  things.  It  told 
her  that  Trent  faced  a  real  peril  for  one 
thing,  for  she  knew  that  Achille  was  no 
alarmist.  It  told  her,  too,  what  it  was  that 
he  might  ask  of  her — a  rifle.  For  he  was 
trying  once  more  to  make  Picard  give  him 
his,  or  steal  one  for  him.  And  Picard  was 
refusing,  on  the  ground  that  her  father 
would  know  and  hang  him. 

"Ah,  well,"  she  heard  Trent  say  at  last, 
what  will  must  hel     There  was  another 
way,   I    think,    but  I   have  closed   that  to 
myself.     Some  things  I  cannot  do  !  " 

Her  heart  leapt  at  that — for  now  she 
guessed  his  meaning.  Now,  at  last,  she  was 
close  to  knowing.  La  Longue  Traverse  still 
baffled  her  ;  the  meaning  of  that  she  must 
discover.  But,  knowing  as  much  as  she  did, 
she  refused  to  let  that  lack  of  knowledge 
hinder  her.  And  before  dusk  she  had 
wormed  the  secret  out  of  the  only  other 
white  woman  at  the  post,  Mrs.  Cockburn, 
wife  of  the  post  doctor.  Mrs.  Cockburn  had 
been  almost  a  mother  to  her ;  she  under- 
stood now,  as  no 
man  could  have 
■done,  the  real 
stress  under  which 
the  girl  was 
labouring.  "I 
should  not  tell 
you.  I  scarcely 
dare,"  she  said, 
when  Virginia  had 
made  her  demand. 

"  If  you  do 
not,"  said  Virginia, 
'I  shall  go 
straight  to  my 
father  !  I  shall 
tell  him  what  I 
suspect,  and  I 
shall  make  him 
tell  me,  no  matter 
what  he  says  or 
does  ! " 

The  doctor's 
wife  saw  that  she 
meant   it.        She 

sighed    and    feared    what     might     follow. 

"  No,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  Rather  than 
have  you  do  that  I  shall  tell  you  myself. 
But  it  will  bring  you  unhappiness,  my  dear 
— and  I  wish  you  could  bring  yourself  to 
take  your  father  still  on  faith,  as  you  have 
always  done — to  be  sure  that,  whatever  he 
does,  is  done  for  the  best.  What  I  shall 
tell  you  of  La  Longue  Traverse  will  seem 
hard — it  will  seem  cruel,  unjust.  Yet — I 
believe  that  it  is  necessary,  things  being 
as  they  are." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Virginia.  "  I  expect  the 
truth  to  hurt.  I  am  learning  that  the  truth 
almost  always  does  hurt." 

And  so  filled  with  horror  as  she  under- 
stood, she  learned  the  meaning  of  the 
dreadful  phrase.  She  learned  the  fate  Ned 
Trent  was  condemned  to  meet — and  that  it 
was  her  own  father  who  was  to  send  him  to 
his  death,  as,  perhaps,  he  had  sent  other 
men  to  die. 

'  Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply,  when  Mrs. 
Cockburn  had  done.  '  I  know  now  what 
there  is  for  me  to  do." 

And  so,  as  dusk  was  falling  again,  she 
made  her  way  to  the  river  bank.  She 
thought  she  knew  where  she  might  find 
Trent.  Nor  was  she  disappointed.  He 
was  sitting  on  a  rock  looking  out  over  the 
water.  At  her  coming  he  looked  up.  But 
the  fire  that  always  lighted  his  eyes  before 

Stewart  and  Me-en-gan  fight  foi'  possession  of  the  rifle. 



when  he  saw  her  was  missing.     His  mood 
did  not  change  to  meet  her  coming. 

"  Forgive  me  for  being  here  if  you  sought 
solitude,"  he  said.  "  This  will  be,  I  think, 
my  last  day  of  plenty.  I  am  making  the 
most  of  it." 

"You  are  leaving  the  post  soon  1 " 

"  To-morrow  morning  early,  I  am  told," 
he  said. 

'  And  you  are  ready  for  the  journey  1 
You  have  everything  you  need  1 " 

He  looked  at  her,  surprised  more  by  her 
tone  than  by  her  words.  And  then  he  lied, 

Everything,"  he  said,  calmly. 

It  was  true,  then,  she  thought,  her  heart 
singing  within  her.  He  would  not  use  her  ! 
Then — he  must — care. 

"  Have  you  a  rifle,  for  La  Longue  Tra- 
verse 1 "  she  asked. 

For  a  moment  he  was  confused.  Could 
she  know,  he  wondered  1  And  he  lied 
again,  sure  that  she  could  not — and  that  he 
would  never  tell  her. 

"a  rifle  1 "  he  said  ''  Of  course,  mademoi- 
selle !  Who  would  travel  in  the  north 
without  a  rifle  1 " 

"  You  !  "  she  answered,  passionately,  aban- 
doning her  reserve.  Oh,  I  know  every- 
thing 1 " 

Chapter  IX. 

I  KNOW  everything  !"  she  repeated.  I 
know  what  is  to  "be  done  to  you — and 
by  my  own  father  !  My  eyes  are 
open.  I  am  no  longer  a  foolish  girl  !  You 
meant  to  get  me  to  help  you — with  my  eyes 
closed.  Now  you  must  let  me  help  you — 
for  do  you  think  I  can  allow  you  to  be  treated 
so,  with  such  injustice  1     No  ! " 

But  he  was  not  thinking  of  himself.  She 
saw  the  furious  colour  blaze  up  into  his 

"Who  told  youl  "  he  demanded,  savagely. 
"  It  wasPicard.     I  will  teach  him.'' 

"No,  no,"  she  cried,  half  laughing,  half 
crying.  "  It  was  not !  It  was  some  one 
else,  some  one  you  do  not  know.  I  had  the 
right  to  know." 

"  No  !  "  he  said.  "And  no  one  had  a  right 
to  tell  you  something  that  has  brought  sor- 
row to  your  eyes."  He  broke  off',  and  was 
silent  a  moment,  in  deep  thought.  Listen, 
girl,"  he  said.  "As  you  know  so  much,  I 
must  tell  you  more.  You  know  the  fate  that 
awaits  me,  but  not  the  reason.  There  are 
two  sides.    I  came  here  with  my  eyes  open — 

I  knew  what  would  happen  if  I  were  caught. 
I  faced  the  risks.  It  was  a  fair  fight.  Per- 
haps it  is  wrong — but  if  it  is,  it  is  a  system 
that  is  wrong,  that  is  cruel,  that  is  unjust — 
not  the  man  who  obeys  the  laws  of  that 
system,  your  father.  It  is  inevitable,  what 
is  to  happen  to  me.  And  —  I  do  not 

"  But,  last  night,"  she  said,  "  you  spoke  of 
asking  me  to  choose — between  pity  and 
duty.     Did  you  not  1 " 

'  That  you  must  forget,"  he  said.  "Those 
were  idle  words — no  more." 

They  were  not,"  she  cried.  "  My  pity- 
was  to  have  given  you  a  rifle.  My  duty 
was  to  my  father.     Was  it  not  so?  " 

He  saw  that  she  must  know  the  truth. 

'  Yes,"  he  admitted,  dejectedly. 
Then  why — why  have  you  not  asked  me 
to  choose  ? "  she  said.  "  Why  have  you 
abandoned  that  '  other  way '  of  which  I 
heard  you  speak  to  Achille  Picard,  for  I  was 
that  other  way,  was  I  not "?  " 

'  I — ^I  could  not  ask  you,"  he  said,  slowly. 
I    knew  you   would  be  found  out.     You 
might  be  punished." 

"  But  you  knew  all  this  when  you  still 
planned  to  do  it  1 " 

Yes,  but  then  it  was  different.  Then — I 
did  not — I  had  not  known  you,  really. 
Now  I  would  rather  take  my  chance — even 
of  death." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  softly.  "  Y'ou  lied  to  me 
then  !  But — it  was  a  noble  lie — a  wonder- 
ful lie  !  How  many  men  would  have  dared 
to  tell  it,  I  wonder  1  And — you  shall  have 
my  help,  after  all !  "  He  interrupted  her 
with  a  sharp  cry,  but  she  silenced  him. 
"  No — listen.  I  can  give  it  without  the 
risk  you  fear.  For  years  ago  a  friend  of  my 
father's  gave  me  a  small  rifle — small,  but 
straight  and  true.  I  have  not  used  it — my 
father  has  forgotten  it.  He  would  never 
know  that  it  was  gone.  I  shall  give  it  to 
you — but  on  a  condition.  You  must 
promise  me  to  leave  this  country  to-night — 
never  to  return.     Will  you  do  that"?  ' 

"  I — I  must,"  he  said.  "  But — after  you 
have  done  this — never  to  see  you  again— " 

"  I  will  give  you  the  rifle,  then,"  she  said. 
"  But — I  would  not  like  to  lose  it  altogether. 
You  must  give  it  back  to  me.  That  you 
may  do  in  August — in  Quebec.  That  you 
must  promise  too." 

His  face  blazed  with  delight. 

"  In  Quebec  1  You  are  going  to  Quebec  1 " 
he  cried.      "  Then  I  shall  want  to  live !     Get 



me  the  rifle  and  the  cartridges — and  I  shall 
fly  to-night  I  They  will  not  suspect — and 
with  the  start  1  shall  have  and  a  rifle  in 
Tny  hand,  let  them  catch  me  if  they  can  !  " 

He  took  her  hands  and  held  them  closely 
in  his  own. 

"Ah,  the  things  that  I  shall  say  when  I 
return  the  rifle  !  "  he  said.  "  You  will  bring 
it  V' 

"  In  an  hour — here,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
shall  be  listening — for  the  things  you  are  to 
say  !  " 

She  heard  him  singing  a  few  minutes 
later  as  he  passed  her  window. 

"  But  how  can  he  help  singing  1 "  she 
asked  herself. 

Chapter  X. 

THEY  met  in  the  flaming  night,  where 
to    find  darkness  they  had  to  seek 
the  shadows  cast  by  the  trees  and 
great   rocks.     She   bore   the  rifle   and    the 

"  It  is  enough  1 "  she  asked  him,  anxiously, 
tears  in  her  voice.  "  There  is  nothing  else 
that  I  can  do  for  you,  Ned  Trent?  " 

"  Nothing  else,"  he  said.  "  Except  to 
think  of  me  when  you  pray  !  " 

"  La  Longue  Traverse,"  she  said,  with  a 
shudder.  "  Even  with  a  rifle  it  will  be  hard. 
I  am  filled  with  dread.  I  fear  what  n'ay 
•come  to  you." 

"  Banish  your  fears  !  "  he  laughed.  "  I 
have  none  now.  I  know  the  way,  and  if 
any  try  to  stop  me,  I  think  they  will  find 
that,  thanks  to  you,  I  am  a  match  for  them." 

"  Then  if  there  is  nothing  else,  you  must 
go,"  she  said.  Oh,  to  know  that  you  are 
going,     perhaps    to    death — to    hardships, 

certainly " 

No  greater  hardships — not  as  great — as 
I  faced  coming  in,"  he  said.  "  The  hazards 
of  the  forest,  of  the  trail,  yes.  But  what 
are  they  ?  I  do  not  fear  them.  Till  August 
then — in  Quebec." 

And  once  again  he  kissed  her  full  on  the 
lips.     But  this  time  her  kiss  answered  his 
this  time  she  did  not  cry  out  or  flee  from 
him.     For   a   moment    they   clung   to  one 
another.     Then  he  was  gone. 

She  lingered  a  moment.  And  then, 
suddenly,  she  heard  a  sound  of  scuffling. 

(Guttural  cries  assailed  her  ears.  She  ran 
toward  them  and  saw  Trent  struggling  with 
Me-en-gan,  her  father's  most  trusted  Indian. 
Others  were  running  toward  the  fighters. 
Even   so  Trent  saw  her,  and  thought  of  her. 

Go — go    quickly  !  "    he    cried.  You 

must  not  be  seen  here  !  " 

She  knew  that  he  was  right.  With  a 
sinking  heart  she  fled.  He  was  strong. 
Would  he  be  able  to  get  away  1 

Before  she  slept  she  knew  the  truth — -that 
he  was  a  prisoner  again,  and  this  time  a 
prisoner  in  very  truth.  She  heard  the 
tokens  of  her  father's  anger,  his  order  that 
Trent  should  be  brought  before  him  in  the 
morning  for  trial.  And,  shuddering,  she 
lay  awake,  wondering  how  she  might  save 
him,  and  finding  in  the  end  only  one  plan 
that  off'ered  any  hope,  and  that  so  slim,  so 
faint,  she  knew,  that  she  could  take  no 
comfort  in  it. 

Then  morning  came  and  she  saw  her 
father,  grim  and  silent,  go  from  his  breakfast 
to  the  room  where  he  dispensed  the  rude 
justice  of  the  post.  Tensely  she  listened, 
striving  to  hear  what  went  on.  She  was 
barred  from  the  room;  she  might  only  guess. 
*  *         * 

Inside  Trent  faced  the  factor  with  a  calm 
face  and  an  eye  that  yielded  nothing  to  the 
stern  gaze  of  his  accuser  and  his  judge. 

"  Now,  indeed,"  said  Galen  Albret,  "  you 
have  touched  a  vital  thing.  Before  when  I 
dealt  with  you  I  could  show  mercy.  The 
matter  was  serious;  it  was  not  one  of  life 
and  death.  Now  you  have  touched  my 
discipline.  You  have  undermined  the  whole 
structure  of  ray  authority.  For  you  had 
aid  !  Some  one  of  my  people  gave  you  a 
rifle.     Who  did  that  1 " 

"No  one.     I  stole  it,"  said  Trent. 

"  You  had  aid,"  repeated  the  factor. 
"  There  was  another  person  with  you  just 
before  you  were  captured.  The  Indians  do 
not  know — but  there  were  others  who  saw. 
I  offer  you  one  last  chance.  Tell  me  who 
aided  you,  who  gave  you  that  rifle,  and  I 
will  let  you  go  free.  You  shall  be  taken 
from  the  country  in  peace  and  honour — or 
you  may  travel  with  the  Abitibi  brigade 
when  it  goes  out.  But,  if  you  do  not  tell 
me     .      .     .      ! " 

"  Well  ?  Better  let  me  know — for  I  will 
answer  no  more  questions  !  " 

"  Then,  in  five  minutes,  I  shall  hang  you! 
You  might  survive  La  Longue  Traverse.  I 
take  no  more  chances  with  you  !  " 

'Hang  nie  like  acomm.on  criminal!  You 
wouldn't  dare  !  "  cried  Trent.  For  the  first 
time  he  went  white.  To  be  shot,  that  was 
a  man's  death.  But  to  be  hung — in  the 
north — it  was  to  damn  him  as  the  lowest  of 



the  low,  a  death  he  abhorred. 

''  You  shall  see.  In  five  minutes,  ;f  you 
liave  not  told,  I  shall  give  the  order.  Let 
me  know  who  aided  you — and  you  shall  go 
free.     If  not,  you  shall  be  hung  !  " 

"  I  believe  you  do  mean  it,"  said  Trent. 
The  first  sharp  shock  was  over.  "  I'll  take 
your  word  for  it.  Stop  talking.  Go  to  the 
•devil !  " 

"  Father !  " 
[["They  wheeled  together    to  face  Virginia 
Albret.     She  stood  in  the  door.     Beside  her 
was  Me-en-gan. 

"  You  must  go  back,"  said  Trent,  catching 
his  breath.      '  Galen  Albret,  send  her  away." 

"  Virginia,"  said  the  factor,  sternly,  at  one 
Avith  his  enemy  for  once,  "  you  must  leave 
the  room.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this  case.      You  must  not  interfere." 

But  the  girl  came  on.  She  faced  her 
father  bravely. 

"  I  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  you 
think,"  she  said.  "  For  it  was  I  who  gave 
this  man  the  rifle  !  " 

Trent  groaned.  Albret,  for  a  moment, 
•was  speechless. 

'  Why  ? "  he  asked,  his  face  working. 

"  Because  I  love  him,"  she  said. 

Chapter  XI. 

IN  his  blind  anger,  caution  had  still  ruled 
Galen  Albret,  as  it  had  all  the  days  of 
his  life.  He  had  sent  Virginia  to  her 
room ;  Trent  he  had  ordered  locked  up. 
And  then  he  had  set  out  to  unravel  the 
twisted  skein.  Trent  must  die  ;  that  much 
he  knew.  But  that  could  wait  until  he 
knew  just  how  far  things  had  gone  ;  until 
he  knew,  too,  how  greatly  Virginia  was  to 

And  first  he  saw  Trent.  He  had  gained 
some  control  of  himself ;  his  rage  had  quieted 
so  that  he  could  let  the  younger  man  talk. 

And  once  more  Trent  lied. 
'  I  deceived  your  daughter,"  he  said.  I 
lied  to  her.  I  made  her  think  I  was  your 
victim  in  more  ways  than  were  true.  She 
is  only  a  child.  She  was  moved  by  her  pity 
and  her  ignorance." 

"  I  think  you  are  telling  the  truth,  and  it 
does  you  some  credit,"  said  Galen  Albret, 
grimly.  Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  on  the  pouch 
the  old  priest  had  given  to  Trent.  He 
started,  and  his  whole  manner  changed. 
"  Where  did  you  get  that? "  he  asked.  "I — 
I  have  seen  that.     It  belonged  to  a  man " 

"  You  know  it?  "  he  asked.     "  It  was  my 

father's,  and  a  proud  possession  ! " 

"  I  might  have  known,"  said  Albret,  with 
a  terrible  softness.  '  You  are  Graham 
Stewart's  son  1  You  were  born  to  be  a 
curse  to  me  !  Now — now  I  know  !  I  beat 
your  father.     I  shall  beat  you." 

Trent  launched  himself  then.  With  one 
fierce  cry  he  was  at  the  factor's  throat. 

"  You  are  the  man  who  killed  my  father  !" 
he  cried.  "  It  was  to  find  you  that  I  came 
to  the  north — not  to  get  the  furs  !  " 

Albret  shook  him  off  for  a  moment ;  be- 
fore the  attack  could  be  renewed  half  a 
dozen  men  had  answered  the  factor's  call 
for  help. 

You  will  wait  here,"  said  Albret,  until 
I  am  ready.  Then — well,  it  will  make  no 
difference  to  you  !  " 

He  went  out,  grimly.  In  his  eyes  men 
saw  that  he  was  in  no  mood  to  be  ap- 
proached. He  was  living  over  again  the 
days  of  his  youth,  when  he  had  hated 
Stewart  and  sent  him  to  his  death  on  La 
Longue  Traverse.  But  one  thing  had 
been  accomplished.  He  had  softened  to- 
ward Virginia.  She  had  been  the  victim 
of  Stewart's  son,  as  her  mother  had  been 
his  father's  victim. 

'  Tell  Virginia  to  find  me  by  the  river," 
he  ordered. 

She  came,  tears  in  her  eyes,  pleading. 
No,"  he  said.  "Virginia,  I  shall  tell 
you  a  story  now  that  I  hoped  you  would 
never  learn.  But  I  must  tell  you,  that  you 
may  learn  to  hate  this  man  who  has  won 
your  heart  with  lies." 

Sorrowfully  he  told  her  of  Ned's  father 
and  her  mother.  And  when  he  had  done 
she  looked  up  at  him  with  blazing  eyes. 

And  you  believed — on  such  flimsy  evi- 
dence as  that !  "  she  cried.  "  You  killed  a 
man  for  that !  You  believed  my  mother 
faithless  to  you,  on  the  word  of  a  scoundrel 
like  Rand  !  And  what  if  it  were  true  1 
Must  a  son  be  like  his  father  ? " 

She  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  What  is  that  V  she  cried,  in  a  changed 
voice.  'A  canoe  floating  down  towards  the 
rapids.  It  has  gone  by  the  landing.  There 
is  a  man  in  it." 

They  ran  together  to  the  water's  edge. 
And,  as  it  went  by,  Albret  seized  the  canoe. 

"Rand!"  cried  Virginia.     "He's  wounded!" 

Galen  Albret  lifted  the  wounded  trader 
from  the  boat.  Together  they  laid  him  on 
the  shore. 

"  He's  dying,"  said  Albret. 



And  at  that  the  wounded  man  opened  his 

'Yes,"  he  said,  chokingly.  "Shot myself 
— an  accident.  Is  that  you,  Factor?  I — 
I've  got  something  to  tell  you.  You — you 
got  the  girl  I  loved.  Years  ago— she 
married  you.  I  hated  you  both.  I — lied 
about  her  and  Stewart.  There  was  nothing 
wrong " 

He  choked  and  coughed.  A  moment 
later  his  head  slipped  back.  He  was  dead. 
And  Galen  Albret,  the  foundations  of  his 
whole  life  shaken,  looked  into  his  daughter's 

"  Here  is  the  key,"  he  said  brokenly. 
Release  him.  Tell  him — and  bring  him  to 
me.     I  want  to  ask  him  to  forgive  me." 


Graham  Stewart 

Galen  Albret  ... 





The  story  is   founded    on    Stuart   Edward    White's   book   "  The    Conjuror's 
House,"  and  the  film,  which  is  in  five  parts,  contains  317  scenes. 

Note  : — A  Factor  at  a  trading  post  is  the  chief  officer,  and  more  powerful  than  the  Czar 
in  his  own  domain 

WHILE  it  is  the  dream  of  thousands  of  girls 
to  appear  in  motion-picture  dramas,  wear 
gorgeous  gowns  and  play  society  dames 
in  general,  there  is  one  photoplay  star  who  would 
rather  jump  into  a  pair  of  tattered  overalls  and 
climb  into  the  oily  cab  of  a  locomotive  than  take 
part  in  the  most  intense  society  drama  ever 

This  remarkable  person  is  HELEN  HOLMES, 
the  Kalem  actress,  whom  the  railroad  men  out 
West  have  dubbed  "  The  Daughter  of  the  Rail- 
road." Miss  Holmes  doesn't  care  what  role  she 
portrays — telegraph  operator,  fireman  (or  should 
it  be  firegirl  ?),  or  substitute  engineer,  so  long  as 
it  enables  her  to  live  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 

The  most  recent  drama  in  which  Miss  Holmes 
appears  is  "  Grouch,  the  Engineer,"  in  which  she 
enacts  the  role  of  a  railroad  man's  widow.  A  rail- 
road serial  story  is  being  written  around  the  capti- 
vating personality  of  Miss  Holmes.  This  story 
is  called  "  The  Hazards  of  Helen,"  and  will  con- 
sist of  a  series  of  episodes,  each  complete  in 
itself,  showing  the  hazards  encountered  by 
Helen,  who  is  a  railroad  telegraphist.  Of  course 
she  has  lots  and  lots  of  love  affairs — everybody 
from  the  meanest  wiper  to  the  railroad  president 
falls  in  love  with  her.  But  who  the  fortunate 
suitor  is  will  not  be  divulged  until  the  final 

'TT^HOSE  of  our  readers  who  have  been  enrap- 
-■-  tured  with  the  Gold  Seal  series  of  pictures, 
"  Lucille  Love,"  will  be  delighted  to  hear 
that  they  are  to  be  succeeded  by  "The  Trey 
O'  Hearts,"  which  is  no  doubt  an  epochal  pro- 
duction, both  from  the  literary  and  dramatic 
view  point.  The  s